Everyone Comes to Almasy's
by Atman
Summary: Dollet is the only place in Galbadia where one can buy freedom, for a price. People try with their fealty, hatred, love, money, and wits to leave the war-ravaged continent. It isn't easy for Squall and Rinoa when they must go through Seifer Almasy.
1. Prolouge

This will probably contain less original content than most stories. The only changes made will be the adaptation of the dialogue, setting, plot, and personalities to those of the FFVIII world. All of whatever amount of the original film's content remains belongs to Warner Brothers' Studios. Elements from Final Fantasy VIII belong to the former Square Electronic Arts. Any adaptation or original content, along with the idea itself, belongs to me. I'm surprised I've not seen this done before.

The setting will be better explained as the tale progresses, but for now all you need to know is that due to Garden secrecy and the Sorceress' influence the 'orphanage gang' is hardly ever recognized by the world as a whole. That should be the only element of what some may consider 'AUishness.'

Prolouge: _Dollet_

The sudden emergence and defeat of the Sorceress Ultimecia left the world in a blurred state of elation, however temporarily. Only those directly involved in the final stages of the conflict knew who were involved, who were to be thanked for staving time compression, who were the villains and the heroes. After such a mysterious rapture from an enveloping fate the world soon returns disregard of danger that was and returns to life as it used to be.   

With the end of conflict, the apparition that was the continent of Esthar awoke, and joined with the rest of the world in celebration. Soon it discarded its former xenophobic ways and began to merge with other countries and peoples. It shared its art, architecture, politics, people, medicine, and many other things with the newly unified body of the earth. Foremost being introduced to the rest of the people was the tremendous and often terrible advances in technology that the sleeping nation continued to excel in producing. The overwhelming naïveté of Esthar and its leaders inundated the planet with foreign technologies that were studied, incorporated, and advanced upon by each nation, often for good.

However, the sovereignty of Galbadia in its torrent of politics and upheavals both economic and social, could only find stability it seemed, with the development of their military and weapons. They found unity by pursuing their old imperialist ways of conquering and subjugation, and soon, with the most advanced integration of powerful para-magic and machinery, began a crusade to recollect their former glory by destroying other populi on the Galbadian mega-continent. 

By this time only Dollet, with the help of Balamb, Trabian, and Shumi special forces was the only major city on the continent unoccupied by the juggernaut.  Even for their aide, had the enemy forces attacked any sooner, it would not likely be a free state, but the inveterate Dukedom held onto it's autonomy until Trabia officially declared it the property of itself to save the withering economy. Thus, the blitzkrieg took itself elsewhere, finally prompting the abdication of neutrality from Esthar.

As the Galbadians concentrated their resources on maintaining authority on its own continent and ensuring control over its every inch, it simultaneously prepared for fighting on the Trabian front. The fearful and oppressed people of the continent sought, in either hope or desperation the passage to the relative safety of the expanded Balamb territories.

Not all could easily reach the haven of Balamb, safe even between the growing tensions of two vehement giants, so a haphazard trail of refugees formed. From Deling to Timber, and by train, foot, or car to the Dukedom of Dollet, where release papers of transit could be acquired, for a price. There those fortunate enough to have the money, influence or luck could flee away to Cape Horn where the Galbadian Navy would not block their passage to the free Balamb. For those others however, time would not stop for them in Dollet; they were forced to wait for it… and wait… and wait… and wait…

First true chapter to come very soon. My other works have been going fairly unnoticed of late, so I ask that you please read and review them as well. I would much appreciate it. Thank you.


	2. Ius Inutilum

The narrow streets were crowded with natives and emigrants, brimming with a peaceful and unhurried activity of the twisting roads and its occupants. Bartering has become of greater import in Dollet these days. Many use this older version of trade to purchase things they could not normally obtain via traditional channels: things like bribes, freedom, and friends that cash itself would have made too conspicuous. Truly the entire set of streets in the seaside city had become a sprawling bazaar, home to the fairly tranquil activities of the few remaining buyers and sellers of the liberties formerly associated with human life.

*

In his spartan office, a local policeman received a fax on wire and positioning his glasses on his broad nose, read it into the loudspeaker microphone that he clicked on. He speaks in a formal and official tone that matches the number of years of service he has been distinguished by.

"To all officers! Two Galbadian couriers carrying important official documents were found murdered on a train from Timber. The murderer and possible accomplices were headed for Dollet. Round up all suspicious characters and search them for the stolen documents. That is all."

He turned off the microphone. Having served honorably for many years meant his easier and superiorly paid position as an officer. It was much easier than most people thought to garner and hold so much distinction: finding a guilty person is easy. He tilted his hat over his eyes and stretched his legs over his desk.

*

A patrolling officer fervently blows his whistle and the streets immediately explode into a riot of motion from the lackadaisical state just prior. A police car careened down the via, scattering incited people to the left and right with its reckless path and blaring sirens, stopping in the heart of the marketplace. Police entered the pandemonium and began to seize anyone deemed suspicious. Some people tried to run amidst the screaming and commotion but most were caught and stuffed into the wagon.

National freedom came at the cost of many personal freedoms. In order to preserve the relatively good lifestyles that those in Dollet had, great precautions had to be taken in order to not further anger the Galbadian monstrosity, and city life was under a state of nigh absolute martial law. Most people accepted the sacrifice willingly and others hid from it and still others reveled within it. Like some of the officials and law enforcement that time, money, and depression had corrupted.

The fops and consanguineous were largely left to their devices during this raid and most like it. Natives are almost used to the sight, but the foreigners either run or watch with an innate curiosity. Some officers approached a man strangely still perusing the goods of the market, detached.

One of them tapped his shoulder and asked, "May we see your papers?"

Turning around the civilian shot his eyes around nervously. "I don't think I have them with me." He admitted smiling agreeably.

"In that case I'll have to ask you to come with us." The officer stated while he grabbed the arm of the questioned. Patting his breast pocket the man loosed a look of pleasant surprise. 

"Wait. It's possible that I… Oh, here they are." He pulled out his papers and the second officer took them and began to inspect them with care.

Looking back up from his inspection the policeman addresses the citizen with a wary look and a cool lilt. "These papers expired two weeks ago." He cast another look back down at them along with his partner. "You'll have to come with us."

Suddenly the man bolts from sight, running as frantically as his fear would carry him. The officers yelled for him to halt and began pursuit as a young refugee couple watches captivated, brought by circumstances to this place from the simple country life they had in Winhill. A shot rang out after the running civilian had passed them hurriedly, which found its place in his lower back, sending him to the ground in a heap.   
  
The tailing police fell upon his already still body and diligently searched for incriminating evidence, documents, and the like in hopes they would hold promotion for them. All they found was some noble and patriotic Free Trabian literature. Finding a guilty person was easy. 

*

At the Hall of Justice only a few minutes later, all of the suspects were unloaded into the grand building of such a specious label. Across the street a middle aged couple sat in an airy café watching the spectacle and talking of it. Behind them, a Trabian man was paying much closer attention to them. They all look as people stream out of the backs of the vans.

"What on earth is going on over there?" The seated woman asked her companion.

"I don't rightly know my dear."

Making his way to the couple, the young Trabian's feet fell lightly on the tile floor and tangles of pretty yet superfluous plants. "Pardon, pardon, sir, pardon, madam. Have you not heard the news?" He approached them with an aura of friendliness and philanthropic information.

The man at the table turned to answer him. "We hear very little and understand even less."

"Two Galbadian couriers were found yesterday murdered in the mountains, the unoccupied mountains. That," He pointed over to the herding of people over at the Hall. "Is a customary roundup of refugees, liberals, and uh, of course, the beautiful girl or two for Sir Kinneas, the Prefect of Police." He stopped momentarily and his sloping forehead creased as his eyes narrowed while speaking further on the subject. "Unfortunately, along with these unhappy refugees the scum of the Galbadian continent also gravitated toward Dollet. Some of them have been waiting years for a visa."

His mood changed suddenly as he bent his knees to place a companionable arm around the man's shoulders as he looked to his wife. "I beg of you; please watch yourselves here. There are vultures, vultures everywhere, everywhere." He reached around behind the man and then stood up again, leaving the seated gentleman bemused and a trifle disconcerted with the alien display of concern.

"Thank you. Ha ha. Thank you very much." He still acted gratified for the advice, however. 

"Not at all sir. Good bye sir, goodbye madam." The Trabian departs.

Turning back to his wife the seated husband states, "Amusing little fellow. Maitre!" Then he pats his breast pockets, realizing something is missing as the waiter comes to his side. "Oh, how silly of me."

"What is it dear?"

"I've left my wallet in the hotel."

"Oh." They both gaze slowly with the gloaming of suspicion toward the direction of the departed Trabian. Overhead the droning of a propeller plane causes them to look upwards. The engines are cut to prepare for landing while wistful refugees pray for a time, perhaps tomorrow, when they would be on such a plane.

*

On the tail of the plane the Galbadian symbol is prominent as it comes to a stop on the landing stretch in Dollet's sole airport. Lining up outside are a number of native officials waiting for the arrival of the high-ranking Galbadian delegation.

Captain Irvine Kinneas is foremost among them: a debonair and handsome young fellow, appointed by Caraway as the Prefect of Police in Dollet. He is free spirited but withal a very shrewd and vigilant official. Until this moment he was almost the only Galbadian influence over the free state.

Beside him is his Galbadian consul, Elwood Feln, a Centran Lieutenant, Utrim Cuius, and his personal aide, John Gregore. The plane stops completely and the group stands at attention. First to exit the transport is Major Martine, whose smile seems to belie any hint of happiness, looking more a frozen facial tick than any true sign of joy on the mustachioed face. Feln comes over to greet him first, saluting.

Martine returns the salute. "Hail, Caraway."

"Hail Caraway, Sir. Good to see you again Sir." They walked away from the plane toward the rest of the group, where Feln introduced the Major to Irvine. "May I present Captain Kinneas, Prefect of the Police here in Dollet." Irvine salutes.

"Unoccupied Trabia welcomes you to Dollet, Major."

Continuing to walk toward the command building he smiles, "Thank you Captain. It is very good to be here." 

The Prefect gestures towards Gregore,  "Major Martine, my aide, John Gregore." They acknowledge each other with formal nods but Captain Cuius quickly cut between them and salutes the Major with unconcealed zeal and desire to please.

"Captain Cuius, Centran service, at your command Major."

Martine stops to see him shortly, "That is kind of you." He turns quickly back to Kinneas and they start to walk again, Gregore and Cuius following closely behind, engaging in a heated debate.

"You may find the climate here in Dollet to be a bit warm, Major. We're not always sublunary like the dayless Deling City." The Prefect noted amiably.

His superior cast his eyes quickly behind him. "We Galbadians must grow used to any climate. From Trabia to Centran desert." He pauses contemplatively. "But perhaps you were not referring to the weather." The two behind them continued to roar at each other.

Irvine deftly avoided any implication with a disarming smile. "Why, what else, my dear Major?"

Major Martine addressed him casually now. "The courier murders. What has been done?"

Gesturing with confidence, Irvine responded, "Knowing the importance of the case I've had my men seize twice the number of usual suspects." He tapped his own hat. "In fact, we already know who the murderer is."

The Major showed his pleasure in a relaxed sigh from within his impeccable uniform. "Excellent. Is he in custody?"

Captain Kinneas waved his hands dismissively, seemingly reckless before his superior. "Oh, there's no hurry. Tonight he'll be at Almasy's. Everyone comes to Almasy's." It was presented as absolute fact, with no room for another possibility.

A spark of recognition flashed across the face of the Major. "I've already heard of this café. And also about Mr. Almasy himself." 

As I feel that sometimes tampering with the original dialogue cannot possibly improve upon it, it will be left mostly intact. That dialogue belongs to Phillip and Julius Epstein and Howard Koch. What I have in mind for the story as a whole will differ slightly from the original, so let me know if keeping things intact seems a waste. 


	3. Eximi

Inside _Fenrir's Café Balamb_ the air itself contained the elegance, intrigue and sophistication of the establishment. Sounds of jubilation were in cascading over the lower noises of conspiracy and idle or purposeful chatter. Above all sounds though, were that of the ambient piano and the music of it and it's small orchestra accompaniment. From there small ivory keys were played with the magnificence of a large ebony man who was just as much the spirit of the crowded room as the majestic chandeliers that made the pearlescent green-veined marble floors glow with their own glory. Rows upon rows of domestic and foreign liquors and liqueurs lined the expansive shelves behind the intricately carved bar space and the patrons gathered around it. A red velvety carpet extends the length of the main dining area, cleaving the path from the ornate double doors providing entrance to the private gambling rooms.

People from all walks were gathered inside, united only by their ability to spend immense amounts of money. Women were well dressed and bejeweled with escorts from unoccupied Trabia, the Estharian Navy, and countless other places. The Galbadians in their distinctive blue uniforms, sharply dressed natives, and even the Shumi in their simple yet respectable flowing robes congregated. Almost all intentions and faces were covered: either by the overpowering concealment of shadows, makeup, and perfumes, or by less tangible means. The moods and topics of conversation were just as varied as the people that carried them.

One man glowered at his heavily rested hands on an unforgiving table. With him was another man, sitting with disinterest across from him. "Waiting, waiting, waiting." He sighed wearily. "I'll never get out of here. I'll be stuck in Dollet forever." His companion didn't even acknowledge the statement. Compassion was in short supply in Dollet.

Some held a bit more hope of escape than others. One woman was holding her diamond-studded hope out to a jeweler with anticipation. "But can't you make it a bit more? Please?"

The jeweler studied the bracelet with his magnifying monocle and snorted at the fairly unremarkable piece. "Sorry miss. Diamonds have flooded the market. Everyone is selling them. They're a drug. Two thousand four hundred."

Crestfallen, the woman handed over the precious stones. "All right."

At another table two conspirators talked. One leaned forward. "The trucks are waiting, the men are waiting. All we need is…" He fell silent and backed away warily as two Galbadian officers walked past. 

Still another pair discusses matters in a partially hidden-away corner, speaking over the drone of other voices. "It's the fishing troll Santana II. It leaves at one sharp tomorrow morning, here from the end of Lapin Beach. Fourth boat from the end."

The refugee looks grateful. "Thank you, oh, thank you."

"And bring fifty thousand Gil in cash." He points to him gravely. "Remember; in cash."

Gilbert, the young and thin-bearded Centran bartender cheerfully handed over a drink in a lowball to a waiting customer. "Vale!" He said, but only received a short look of confusion from the patron. Gilbert frowned as the short and jovial waiter Selphie Tilmitt seized a tray full of glasses and walked off toward the private rooms.

She knocked on the sturdy doors. "Open up Fujin." The doorway slid open widely for the slight woman who smiled graciously at the guard.

"CERTAINLY." Respect could be detected in the loud monotone somehow.

Heading to an antique table where several people were playing cards, she started to set down the beautifully mixed drinks before the proper persons. One of the seated women glances to another table and beckons to the leaving Selphie. "Uh, maitre?"

"Yes miss?" She bent down unnecessarily to the questioning woman.

"Would you ask Seifer if he'd come and have a drink with us?" She glimpsed to the other table again.

The petite shook her head with wide and amused eyes. "Madam, Mr. Almasy _never_ drinks with his customers. Never. I have never seen him" Selphie begins to leave again. The man at the table sits in contemplation not reserved for his hand while the others speculated aloud as to what would make a saloon keeper so snobbish.

"Perhaps if you were to tell him that I run the second largest banking house in Deling?" He mused. Selphie came back to the table and leaned down conspiratorially, laughing.

"That would not impress Seifer. Just the second largest? The largest banker in Deling is now the pastry chef in our kitchen… and his father is the bellboy! Tee-hee."

Returning his focus to the cards, the man laughed sardonically. "Well, looks like we have something to look forward to."

*

The building's host lays a check discreetly before tumbler of Vodka. Formerly holding the drink, a hand reaches for a pen and signs the paper, 'Okay-Seifer.' Silently the host picks up the check and returns to his other duties, as the hand returns to the cold comfort of the tumbler. The other hand of the man floated undecidedly over a chessboard attempting to discern the greatest move he could make against himself in the game of solitary chess. His face is decidedly neutral, stony even. It betrays not a hint of his thoughts or of any emotion.

Commotion at the door causes him to look up. A small crowd of people is eager to come inside and waste their bundle of cash in his small casino. Fujin looks to him and he nods approval, taking another swallow of pale liquid. Soon afterwards a Galbadian officer appears at the doorway and Seifer shakes his head to Fujin who denies the man access. 

"SORRY. PRIVATE." The austere woman starts to shut the ponderous door but the officer grows belligerent and steps in the way.

"I know there's gambling going on in there! Of all the nerve. Who do you… It's no secret. You dare not keep me out of here!" He continues to try to push past. Fujin lets go of the door and the angry man runs into the imposing form of the owner, whose cool scar-interrupted gaze causes him to grow still.

"Yes? What seems to be the problem?" He addressed Fujin.

 "GENTLEMAN WANTS--." Her curt response was cut short.

The officer huffed indignantly. "I've been to every gambling room from the Island Closest to Heaven to the Island Closest to Hell and if you think I'm going to be kept out of a saloon like this, you're very much mistaken." He presented his card. Seifer merely raised an uninterested eyebrow shortly before a thin man barges his way past the upset officer.

"Excuse me, please." He squeaks by the man and Fujin and looks up to Seifer. "Hello Seifer."

Seifer's disposition softens slightly as he responds to the small man. "Hello Zone." Zone walks into the room. Seifer levels his stare back at the Galbadian, taking the card from his hand and tearing it to pieces. "Your cash is good at the bar." He told him pointedly.

Jaw slack, the officer resounded "What?! Do you know who I am?"

"I do. And you're lucky that the bar's open to you." With those words Seifer shoved the pieces of the man's card into his hands again and turned him away.

The Galbadian stormed away, tossing the shreds of his card into the air, stating, "This is an outrage. I'll report you to the consul!"

As he makes his way back to his table, Seifer meets Zone again. The young man grins and speaks flatteringly. "Huh. You know Seifer, seeing you back there with the Galbadian Bank could lead one to think that you've been doing this all your life." His voice held a hint of unexpressed knowledge and amusement.

His companion straightened. "What makes you think I haven't?" Seifer's eyes narrowed at the implication while he offered his cold rebuttal. 

While Seifer sat back down, Zone slyly avoided firm positions with his indistinct answer, eyes down. "Oh, nothing. But when you first came to Dollet, I thought-."

"What have you ever received from thinking?" Seifer scoffed. "You know what thinking gets you right?"

Zone laughed as to not offend his companion and shrugged. "You're right. What right do I have to think?" He mused with false pathos, gesturing to a chair. "May I?" He sat himself when Seifer refused to respond. "Too bad about those Galbadian couriers, huh?"

Seifer rolled his shoulders back nonchalantly and answered humorlessly. "Lucky break for the bastards. Yesterday they were just two subaltern clerks and today they're the 'Honored Dead.'" He snorted and mused over his possible strategies against his advancing self.

The man across from him eyed him curiously. "You are a very cynical person, Seifer, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

Making a move against himself on the chess board, Seifer didn't look up. "I won't."

A passing waiter placed a drink before Zone who thanked him for it. Turning to Seifer he asks, "Won't you have a drink with me please?"

"No."

"Oh right. I forget you never…" He gestures to the nearly departed waiter. "I'll have another please." After taking a drink from the first he began to cough and water at the eyes. He looked to Seifer again with a certain amount of sadness. "You despise me don't you?"

After manipulating one of his pawns Seifer answered indifferently. "If I ever gave you any thought I probably would." He was frowning at the thought of losing, most likely.

"But why? Oh, you object to the kind of work I do? But think of all the poor refugees that must rot in this place if not for my help. That's not so bad. Through my own ways I provide them with exit visas, with their freedom."

"For a price, Zone. For a price."

"But think of all the poor folks who can't meet Kinneas' price. I get it for them for half. That's not so parasitic is it?"

Seifer looked up. "I don't mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one."

Zone sighed with a strange contented merriment. "Well, Seifer, after tonight I'm through with it all. I'll be leaving Dollet, through with the entire business."

"Who'd you bribe to get your visa? Kinneas or yourself?"

He laughed ironically. "I found myself to be much more reasonable." 

Taking a packet out of his coat pocket, Zone carefully set it on the table. "Look, Seifer. Do you know what this is? Something that you nor I have ever seen. Letters of transit signed by General Zabac. Cannot be rescinded or even questioned." Seifer moves his hand to take a look at them. "One moment. Tonight I'll be selling these for more money than I have ever dreamed of, then: goodbye Dollet!" He paused for a short time smiling. "You know Seifer, I have made many friends in Dollet, but somehow because you despise me, you're the only one I trust. Will you keep these for me?"

Seifer looked the papers over carefully and made a quick move on the board. He looked to Zone. "How long?"

"An hour. Maybe a little longer."

He placed himself in checkmate. Strange that he always seemed to loose when he won. "I don't want them here overnight."

"Don't worry. Please take them for me." Seifer stuffs them discreetly in his suit pocket. "Thank you. I knew I could trust you." Zone excused himself from the table and beckons a waiter. "Waiter, I'll be expecting some people. If anyone asks for me, I'll be right here." He turned back to Seifer. "Well Seifer, I do hope you're more impressed with me now. If you'll excuse me I'll go share my luck with your roulette table." Zone started across the immaculate floor to the table of which he spoke.

"Hold on." Seifer walked up to him where he had stopped and turned. "I heard a rumor that those Galbadian couriers were carrying letters of transit." He folded the ill-concealed mass of his arms over themselves.

Looking at his shoes, Zone laughed nervously. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I heard those rumors too. Poor devils." Seifer held his penetrating gaze steady.

He spoke slowly. "Yes you're right." He smirked. "I am a little more impressed with you, Zone." With that he walked into the main dining room.

Forgive me that this starts somewhat slowly. Bear with me: It will be entirely worth it.


	4. Nemo, Numquam

I've decided to dedicate this to Quistis88, because Quistis, I loff you. Just kidding. But seriously; thank you for being a consistent and great supporter of me. I greatly appreciate it. 

Of course, feedback from people other than her is certainly welcome.

In the quasi darkness, he walked within the dining area, winding between tables and crowds of standing people. He seemed to consciously avoid the stage spotlight that danced around and stopped occasionally to highlight the piano man and his accompanying orchestra. Seifer stepped in front of the piano, safe from the room's attention and casually placed the letters of transit inside the back of the instrument and he went to lean against the bar, sipping a cocktail. A stout man sees him and after the musical number concludes, travels to see him. They exchange business-like smiles.

He was a middle-aged man, fat and well dressed with exotic fabrics, possessing of an air of wealth and pragmatic ethics. He spoke quickly and with a secrecy that few could mistake as discourteous bluntness. "Hello, Seifer."

"Hello, Porsche. How's business at the _Blue Elvoret_?" He asked nonchalantly to his business rival with whom he was on good terms.

"Fine, but I would still like to buy your café."  

Seifer perused the bottles of alcohol on the shelves. "It's not for sale."

"You haven't heard my offer."

He looked back at his rival and returned, "It's not for sale at any price." Pouring himself a shot of brandy he seemed to have lost his attention. Porsche was not yet contented however, and moved on to another area of bargaining.

"What do you want for Raijin?" The overweight man gestured to the enthralling piano player.

"I don't buy or sell human beings." Seifer answered coolly.

Porsche shook his head and sighed, dissatisfied with his friend's lacking cooperation and poor attitude to business relations. "That's too bad. People are the leading commodity here in Dollet. Why in refugees alone we could make a fortune if you would just work with me in the black market." He conspired closely in a near whisper.

Seifer was looking away. "Suppose you run your business and I run mine." He pointed to their respective selves for emphasis, but Porsche's persistence was undeterred. 

"Suppose we ask Raijin. Perhaps he'd like to make a change."

He received a pointed look. "Suppose we do."

"My dear Seifer: when will you learn that isolationism is not a practical policy any longer." His remark was ignored. They walked together to the front of the piano. Raijin, still playing looked to Seifer who leaned over the top of the instrument. 

"Raijin, Porsche here wants you to work for him at the _Blue Elvoret." He gestured to the awaiting plump man._

"I like it fine here, ya know." Raijin answered with a smile.

"He'll double what I pay you."

"I ain't got time to spend what I make here." He shrugged and Seifer made face of unquestionable conclusion to Porsche, who seemed satisfied and exited the café, leaving his shunning partner to return to the bar.

At the bar space a young and attractive woman sat, repeatedly emptying her tumbler, lending color to her insipid and smooth face framed by golden hair. Gilbert was leaning on the side of the counter, staring with hopelessly lovesick eyes, while she never took her gaze of like nature away from Seifer. The bartender refilled her tumbler. "The boss's private stock, because, Quistis, I loff you."

The woman was cold and morose when she answered sourly. "Oh, shut up."

"Okay, okay, Quistis. For you I shot opp, because, Quistis, I loff you." He notices that Seifer has returned to the bar and his drink. "Uh-oh." Seifer leans on the bar right next to the bitter Quistis and bids her no attention and affords no glance or word. "Oh, mister Almasy, mister Almasy. Some Galbadians, boom, boom, boom, boom, gave me this check. Is it all right?"

Seifer took it and examined the writing. He tore it to pieces and placed it in his empty glass. Quistis, who has never taken her soft drunken glare off his form, asks with acquired astringency. "Where were you last night?"

He keeps his full attention on pouring a flute of strong orange liqueur and frowns while raising his brows. "That was so long ago, I can't remember."

Her hope seems a distant requisite. "Will I see you tonight?" He fills his throat will the smooth liquid.

"I never make plans that far ahead." Seifer shrugged with a tone of conveyed fact.

Quistis turned back to Gilbert and extends her empty glass miserably to him. "Give me another."

"Gilbert, she's had enough." The boss was cool, collected.

"Don't listen to him, Gilbert. Fill it up." The bartender was shortly bemused but his loyalty won out, along with his needed state of employment.

"Quistis, I loff you, but he pays me."

She turned to Seifer in a drunken state of fury, nearly screaming in rage, and falling off her stool. "Seifer, I'm sick and tired of you - "  

" - Gilbert, call a cab."

"Yes boss." Seifer grabbed her by the arm and began to lead her to the door.

"Come on, we're going to put on your coat and take you home."

"Take your hands off me!" He continued to drag the enraged beauty to the exit, taking her coat from the rack and wrapping it around her. She objected violently to this action and continued to stumble in her attempts to remain indoors.

"No. You've had a little too much to drink. You're going home." He returned calmly.

Outside Gilbert stood on the curb, hand outstretched to signal incoming cabs in the cool, dark night. "Taxi!" Soon he flagged one down as Seifer pushed Quistis' disheveled form in front of it.

"Who do you think you are, pushing me around like this?" She sighed and studied the sidewalk, then looked to her side, off into the distance of black nothingness. "I was a fool to fall for a man like you."

Seifer turned to Gilbert and gave him some money, stating. "You'd better go with her Gilbert, to make sue she gets home."

"Yes Boss." He was eager to please.

"And come right back."

Gilbert lowered his head in disappointment and answers. "Yes Boss." The cab left and Seifer started to stalk in his peculiar manner of walking, back to the nightclub. Off to his right he heard the sounds of someone clapping, as if they had seen a fine performance just ending. He turned his head to see Irvine seated at the outdoor table on the terrace, he smiled with the delight brought by the previous spectacle, beckoning to Seifer.

"Hello, Seifer."

"Hello, Irvine." He took a seat and leaned back into the chair.

Irvine gestured in the direction of the departed cab, where the beacon light of the nearby airport shone brightly. "How extravagant you are; throwing away women like that." He tsked a few times. "Someday they may be scarce." The captain thinks for a while, growing amused. "Perhaps I shall pay a call on Quistis. Maybe get her on the rebound, eh?" He winked for effect.

"When it comes to women, you're a true democrat." Two officers stop by the table to salute the Prefect. The pervading silence stops when a plane starts to take to the skies, the landing beacon passes over the face of Seifer with its great spotlight, blinding him as he looks to the plane. It flies directly overhead.

The captain grows pensive and asks with genuine curiosity. "The plane to the Cape." He pauses. "Would you like to be on it?"

His companion stares at the table. "Why?" He answers curtly. "What's at the Cape?"

"The clipper to Balamb." Seifer is unresponsive, countenance unhappy. He scowls pervasively and rubs his scar. "I have often speculated on why you've never tried to return to Balamb. I know that you have the money." When Irvine still garners no reaction he continues warily but with true amusement and interest. "Did you abscond with the church funds? Run off with a senator's wife? I like to think you killed a man. It's the romantic in me."

Seifer looks off in the direction of the airport. He groaned retrospectively when he answered, amused in cruel irony. "Would you believe a combination of the three, with heavy emphasis on the latter?" Irvine smiled. They treated each other like they had known each other their entire lives, yet knew nothing of the other's past or current motives.

"What on earth brought you to Dollet?"

"My health." He looked at his cohort. "The doctor said that the dry air would be good for my lungs."

Irvine appeared incredulous. "What dry air? We're a seaside town with prevailing east winds."

"I was misinformed." He shrugged. 

"Huh!"

From inside the café the croupier emerged and sought out Seifer. "Excuse me, mister Almasy, but a gentleman inside has won forty thousand Gil and the cashier needs some money."

Seifer gets up. "Well, I'll just go to the safe."

"I am so upset mister Almasy. You know I can't understand - " Seifer put up his hand to silence him.

" - Forget it Sevreign. Mistakes like that happen."

"I'm awfully sorry." The three entered the café and made their way toward the stairs. Seifer clasped Raijin on the shoulder as they passed by the piano. He was playing _Loveless. Irvine quickened his pace to match Seifer's and faced him._

"Seifer, there's going to be some excitement here tonight. We are going to make an arrest in your café." Seifer scowled with his unconcealed annoyance.

"What, again?"

Irvine continued with pride. "It's not just any arrest mind you. A murderer no less." Seifer's jade eyes involuntarily drift to the gambling rooms and the sharp sight of the Prefect takes note. They both face forward again.

"I do hope you're not thinking of warning him. Don't put yourself out; he can't possibly escape."

He was stolid in his return of conviction, leaving no room to second guess his words or intentions. "I stick my neck out for nobody."

The Captain nods. "A wise foreign policy." They continue up the stairs passing local officers fighting to have words with unknown women. "You know Seifer, we could have made the arrest earlier in the _Blue Elvoret, _but out of my high regard for you we are staging it here."

Seifer rolled his eyes in tandem with the safe tumbler. "Gee, I'm flattered." The captain paid no heed to the remark.

"It will amuse your customers."

He growled. "I rather think our own entertainment is enough."

Looking around away from where Seifer removed the money, Irvine continued. "Seifer, tonight we are to have a very special guest, Major Martine of the Third Galbadian Reich, no less. We want him to be here when we make the arrest, show him a demonstration of my administration's efficiency." Seifer returns to his view, looking disinterested and wholly unimpressed.

"I see. And what's Martine doing here? I'm sure he didn't travel all the way to Dollet to witness a demonstration of your efficiency." 

Irvine frowns as though he had considered no other possibility. "Perhaps not." Seifer smirked and handed the money over to Sevreign.

"It shall not happen again sir." The croupier continued to apologize.

He was sent on his way. "It's quite all right." Seifer turned back around. "Irvine, you have something on your mind. Why don't you spill it?" He closed the door to his office and then did the same with the safe.

"How observant you are. As a matter of fact, I wanted to give you a word of advice." He made himself comfortable on a couch in the luxuriously furnished quarters.

"Oh? Have a brandy?" Seifer pours and hands one to his seated company.

"Thank you. Seifer, there are many exit visas sold in this café, but we know that you have never sold one. That is why we permit you to stay open." He swallowed a gulp of the finely distilled brandy, savoring it and swirling it in his glass.

"I always thought it was because I let you win on the roulette tables."

The prefect looked to the side. "That is another reason." He paused shortly. "There is a man who's arrived here in Dollet on his way to Balamb. He will offer a fortune to anyone who will sell him an exit visa."

Seifer speculated. "Yeah? What's his name?"

"Squall Leonheart."

The plot thickens. It'll be thicker than Zell's skull by the time this is over, but worry not: I'll be providing bits of information here and there to further explain the motives of all. Still, this is intended to be a mystery of sorts. Comments, suggestions, or criticisms are encouraged.


	5. Ludi

Things are picking up, but if you should find that this is boring, it is your duty to tell me so that I may better entertain you. Tell me how I'm doing regardless and concerning any facet. If a 'little something' should make you truly like this in an unexplainable way, it probably wasn't my idea, sadly. 

Enjoy.

"Squall Leonheart?" Irvine Kinneas carefully gauged the reaction of Seifer.

"Why Seifer, I believe that's the only time I've ever seen you so impressed." He takes out a pack of cigarettes and pats one out, covering his face with his hands to light it. "In fact, that may be the only time I've seen you impressed at all." The captain smiled.

Seifer shrugged casually. "He's already succeeded in impressing half the world." The Prefect puffed experimentally a few times on his cigarette, exhaling small streams of smoke out the sides of his mouth. 

He flicked some ashes into a nearby tray. "It's recently become my duty to see to it that he doesn't impress the other half." With his sharp eyes he follows the businessman as he approaches a liquor cabinet to refill his glass of brandy. "Seifer, Leonheart must never reach Balamb; he stays in Dollet."

Filling from his elegant decanter, Seifer remarked with unadulterated inquisitiveness. "It will be interesting to see how he manages." He returned to he seat and refilled the Captain's empty glass as well.

"Manages what?"

Seifer lifts his glass to his companion in a solitary toast. "Why, his escape of course." He quickly swallowed the contents of his new drink.

"Oh, but I just told you, - "

Cutting his arm in a swath, his friend interjected. " – The hell you say. He's already escaped from D-District twice, some concentration camps, and the Galbadians have been chasing him all around the continent for over three years." Irvine smiled irritatingly.

"This is the end of the chase." He gave his own one-man toast and polished off his brandy, slamming the glass on the coffee table. Seifer flashed his own smirk.

"Forty thousand Gil says it isn't."

Irvine leaned forward. "Is that an earnest offer?"

"I just paid out forty and I'd like to get it back." The Prefect sat back and considered the offer and then sat forward again.

"Make it twenty; I am but a poor corrupt official."

"Fine."

The captain took some final drags from his hand wrapped cigarette and thrust the butt into the ashtray. "Done. No matter how clever he may be, he still needs an exit visa." He adds slyly and with a mischievous glinting. "…Or should I say, two?"

He was eyed circumspectly. "Why two?"

Irvine's eyebrow made a high perch along with the corresponding corner of his mouth. "He is traveling with a lady."

Seifer fell on extreme relief with the news, surprising the Captain. He lifted his right ankle to sit atop his left knee and draped his arms over the back of the couch, reclining luxuriously. "He'll take one." Then he tilted his head back, laying it over bridged hands, and peered at the ceiling.

"How is this that you presume to understand so much about him?" The prefect returned. "Do you know him personally?" He inquired knowingly.

His companion scowled noticeably at the remark. "I know the type." He evaded dryly.

The Chief continued, satisfied, but slightly perplexed. "Well, I don't think he would. I have seen the lady. And if he did not leave her in Trabia, or in Timber, then he certainly won't leave her here in Dollet." Seifer lifted his arms above the couch momentarily in a minor shrug.

"Maybe he's not quite as romantic as you are." Biting satire tore through the words at his Casanova friend. He smirked, and while Irvine found his companion's pervasive sarcasm irksome, he didn't react strongly to it.

"It doesn't matter. There is no exit visa for him." 

With a dangerous demeanor of wonder, Seifer sat up straight again. "Irvine, what could have ever given you the idea that I might be interested in helping Leonheart escape?" 

Irvine gave a wry smile. "Because, my dear Seifer, I suspect that under that cynical shell you're at heart a sentimentalist." Making a face that demonstrated his displeasure and incredulity toward the last proclamation, Seifer listened. "Oh, laugh if you will, but I happen to be familiar with your record. Let me point out just two items: Five years ago you fought for Timber's independence. Two years ago you supplied weapons and magic refines while often fighting off single handedly the Galbadian advances during the siege of Fisherman's Horizon."

Seifer raised a finger with his verbal point. "And I was well paid on both occasions."

The captain shook his head. "Even if you were paid, as you've asserted; the winning side would have paid much better." He tipped his hat.   
  


Sighing as though very irritated, Seifer conceded. "Maybe. Well, it seems that you are determined to keep Leonheart here."

"I have my orders." Seifer rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I see. Galbadian spank." 

"Seifer, you overestimate the influence of the Galbadians. They do not interfere with me and I do not interfere with them. In Dollet I am the master of my destiny, the purveyor of my - " Noticing that his aide has entered the room, Irvine stops short his sentence and looks to him uncertainly. 

The aide saluted. " – Major Martine is here, Sir." Quickly bringing himself to leave, the Prefect makes for his exit.

"You were saying something, Captain?" Seifer asked with an amused tone.

Irvine turned just to shortly say, "Excuse me" before bowing and exiting. The keeper remained seated with empty glass and cynical smile. 

*

"Selphie, see that Major Martine gets a good table, one close to the ladies." Irvine pointed in the general direction of his wish when talking to the petite waitress. Waiting at the entrance was his superior officer whom he did not wish to displease or discomfort in any way. They noticed each other from afar.

Turning her head away, Selphie remarked in futility and depression. "I have already given him the best, knowing that he is Galbadian and would have taken it anyway." Though for a typical person her anger and bitterness would have seemed hidden in her words and actions, those that knew her would have known anger to be present with the mere absence of cheer. The Prefect tipped his hat to her soberly and walked off.

_Devil May Care _filtered through the air and smoke as Irvine approached one of his officers. "Take him quietly now. Two guards at every door."

The officer saluted and acknowledged his orders. "Yes sir. Everything is ready sir." He then moved to relay the orders to his subordinates. Making his way to the Major's table, Irvine noticed that Seifer was descending the stairs, watching the evening's activities.

Irvine greets the Major and his Consul, Elwood Feln. "Good evening gentlemen."

Martine nods. "Good evening Captain."

"Won't you join us?" The consul stepped in and pushed out an empty seat with his foot, allowing the officer to seat himself and remove his hat. After the Prefect had situated himself, he turned to the Major.

"Thank you. It is a pleasure to have you here, Major." The man whom he spoke to largely ignored him, addressing instead the newly arrived waiter.

"Champagne and a tin of caviar."

Interceding the leaving waiter, Irvine spoke. "May I recommend _Domaine LeFlaive _'62, a great Dollet wine."

"Thank you."

"Very well sir." The waiter exited to retrieve their order.

Martine surveyed the café, looking pleased with his surroundings, both for appreciable form of the architectural ambiance and the beautiful ladies abound. He smiled. "Interesting club."

Irvine, who himself had been admiring his surroundings as he was so prone to doing, collected himself quickly before responding. "Especially so tonight Major. In a few minutes we will see the arrest of the man who killed your couriers." 

"I expected nothing less, Captain."

*

Still at the roulette table, Zone was approached on either side by two gendarmes. The officer among them spoke to him just as he placed his chips for another spin. "Mister 'Zone?'" He looked around to find the guards and then down at his chips, which he gathered into a pile and stacked into his hands.

"Oh. Yes?" Zone chose to address the inferior ranked.

"Would you please come with us?"

"Certainly. May I please cash in my chips first?" He looked to the unranked gendarme who in turn looked to the officer who nodded. Zone held up his chips to them as he reached the cashier. "Pretty lucky, huh?" He pushed the chips through the cashier's window. "Two thousand please." Other guards begin to station themselves beside the doors as he notices in the reflection. They escort him through the doors after he warily looks at the two new gendarmes and suddenly runs through the exit and slams it shut behind him.

The guards are startled but soon draw their weapons and open the door. Having just started to run again, Zone turned at the sound of the wooden frames and opened fire on the unsuspecting officer and comrades. Not bothering to see the bullets chew into the uniforms of the injured nor the frightened clamor of the patrons in the café, he ran again. He saw Seifer stalking from the opposite direction, alerted by the shots.

Zone ran to him and clung to his arm in panic. "Seifer! Seifer, help me!" He turned to see the following guards come to reach him. "Hide me, Seifer! Do something. You must help me Seifer, hide me!"

"Don't be a fool. You can't escape." Seifer looked down upon the hopeless man as the gendarmes came and seized him, hauling him roughly away, even as he continued to reach out to him, pleading. 

"Seifer! Seifer!" Impassive, the one being asked for stood watching silently. 

A customer walks by behind Seifer after the incident. "When they come to get me, Seifer, I hope you're more of a help." Seifer regarded him in a fleeting moment.

Not many heard his remark, but it wasn't delivered with the gravity or conviction with which he usually spoke. "I stick my neck out for nobody." 

*

An anxious silence centered on him as he walked into the disturbed main dining area, ensuring that the dead and injured guards were removed. Every eye focused on him even as many prepared to leave. He came to the piano and spoke to them in order to soothe their nerves and ease their minds. "I'm sorry that there was a disturbance folks." He took the time to center a glare on the Major's table. "But it's all over now, so sit down and have a good time. Enjoy yourselves." Having heard the calm and collection in Seifer's voice, the entire room immediately followed his suit. He glances at Raijin and nods. "Alright Raijin."

Raijin began to play an up-tempo improvisation and Seifer passed by the table of the Major. They sat there calmly, with a contented air. Irvine sees him and waves, beckoning him with a call. "Oh, Seifer?" He begins the walk over to the table. "Seifer this is Major Martine of the Third Galbadian Reich." 

Martine regards the saloonkeeper. "How do you do Mister Almasy?" 

"Oh, how do you do?" He returned lamely.

Irvine continued. "And you already know Elwood Feln of the Third Reich." Seifer nodded to the Galbadians as the Major pulled out the remaining chair.

"Please join us, Mister Almasy." Somewhat uncomfortably, begrudgingly, he does so. Martine folds his hands neatly over his crossed legs and addresses Seifer. Irvine speaks again before he has the chance, however, continuing to try to promote himself before the Galbadian presence. 

"We are very honored here tonight, Seifer. Major Martine is one of the reasons that the Third Reich enjoys the reputation it has today." Martine turned to him.

"You repeat 'Third Reich' as though you expect there to be others."

Irvine quieted the sound of his voice, but continue with a sly rejoinder. "Well, personally Major, I will take what comes." He raised an eyebrow as Martine judged him warily before turning back to Seifer. 

"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions? Unofficially, of course."

"Make them official if you like."

Martine began. "What is your nationality?"

Seifer considered for some time before answering, as stolidly and dryly as humanly possible. "I'm a drunkard." 

Irvine thrust his finger in the middle of the table. "And that makes Seifer a citizen of the world."

Continuing with his statement, Seifer spoke. "I was born in Esthar Proper, if that'll help you any." Martine nodded.

"I understand that you came here from Timber at the time of occupation."

Wringing a linen napkin is his hands, Seifer sighed. "There seems to be no secret about that." Martine nodded again.

"Are you one of those people who cannot imagine the Galbadians in their beloved Timber?"

Seifer looked up and stared at Martine, growing slightly bitter. "It's not particularly my 'beloved Timber.'"

Feln broke into the questioning. "Can you imagine us in Balamb?"

"When you make it there, ask me."

"Ho, diplomatist!" The prefect injected with good humor. Martine began to ask his questions again.

"What about Esthar?"

"Well, there are certain parts of Esthar City, Major, that I advise you not to try to invade." Seifer countered and Martine acknowledged him contemplatively before continuing his interrogation. 

"Aha… So, who do you think will win the war?"

Seifer was looking elsewhere, and disinterested. "I haven't the slightest idea."

"Seifer is completely neutral about everything." Irvine was still trying to be the unneeded bridge between the two parties, both of whom were growing weary of his remarks. "That takes in the field of women, as well."

"You haven't always been so carefully neutral. We have a complete dossier on you." Martine extracted a small black book from his breast pocket and opened it, turning to a specific page. "Seifer Almasy. Estharian. Age: Twenty-three. Cannot return to his country." He looks up from the document. "The reasons are little vague." His final sentence was stated in a way that tried to prompt enlightenment from the other party. Seifer reached over to take the book. "Don't worry. We're not going to broadcast it."

Perusing the book, Seifer examined the many statements about him. He looked up and asked with marginally demeaning sarcasm and inquisitiveness. "Are my eyes really brown?" 

"You'll forgive my error and curiosity, Mister Almasy. The point is that an enemy of the Reich has come to Dollet and we are checking up on anyone that can be of help to us." 

Seifer nodded and cast a glance toward Irvine. "My interest in whether Squall Leonheart stays or leaves is purely a sporting one."

"So, you have no sympathy for the fox, huh?"

"Not particularly. I understand the point of view of the hound, too."

The Major was growing angry with the subject of the rebel. "Squall Leonheart has led resistance against the Reich for several years, often tactically assaulting our forces single handedly. Yet even if he fails to elude capture, he always escapes and causes more damage. I know he is not invincible." 

"One must admit…" Irvine stared at the table speaking as though he were in reminiscence. "…That the man has great courage."

"I will admit that he is very clever." Conceded Martine. "Three times he has slipped through our fingers. We intend for there to be no more."

Seifer rose from the table. "You'll excuse me gentlemen. Your business is politics, mine is running a saloon." Martine nodded.

"Good evening, Mister Almasy."

Irvine turned to his superior and spoke conspiratorially and with reassurance. "You see? We have nothing to worry about with Seifer." The Major just narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps."

*

In through the front door walks a short yet imposing man, accompanied by a stunningly beautiful young woman. At the front desk the headwaiter comes to greet them. "Yes, sir?"

"I reserved a table. Squall Leonheart." 


	6. Dum praeteriret temporem

The headwaiter bowed deeply with an air of casual reverence. "Yes Mister Leonheart. This way please." He stretches his toweled arm out gracefully, showing Squall and his companion to their destination. As they walk among the carpeted walkway the patrons take notice of her exceptional beauty, some take notice several times, watching her pass by with an unmatched elegance. They pass by the piano and she regards Raijin closely, showing recognition and smiling faintly, shyly.  

With concerted effort, Raijin maintains his focus on the instrument he plays, willing himself not to gaze upon her. Squall's firm and gentle hand guides her along the small of her back as she stopped to look at the piano player. The headwaiter pulls out a chair for her and Squall takes a seat opposite her, studying the contents of the club warily, meticulously. Only when the couple is seated and absorbed with each other does Raijin dare to steal a glance in the lovely woman's direction.

Martine and Irvine could not help but notice the gravitation of attention and looked up from their table to the modish couple. 

Finally finished with his steely survey Squall faces the waiter and orders shortly. "Two cointreaux please." The headwaiter nodded and left them. Turning to his companion, he stated, "I saw no one of Zone's description." She shifted uncomfortably.

"Squall, I, I feel as though somehow we shouldn't stay here." Her demeanor contrasted his gravity and severity with a shy but playful coyness. He nodded slightly regarding her intuition, but disagreed regardless.

Moving his face closer to her and speaking in a lower tone, he offered his words of quiet assurance and solidarity. "If we would leave so soon we would only call more attention to ourselves." She nodded. He placed his eyes in search of the doorways leading out of the room. "Perhaps Zone is in another part of the café."

A man approached their table as inconspicuously as he was able. "Excuse me, but you look like a couple who are on their way to Balamb."

Squall folded his arms and regarded the stranger stonily. "Well?"

The other man slips a ring off his finger and shows it to them. "You will find a market there for this ring, I am forced to sell it at a great sacrifice." Squall looks at the object, unimpressed by its form and suspicious of its owner.

"Thank you, but I hardly think - " Squall began before being cut off genially. 

" – Then perhaps for the lady then." The stranger brings the piece of jewelry closer to them. "The ring is quite unique." Then he opens the gem face to reveal an ebony surface underneath. At the table the couple immediately recognize the Loireraine Cross of General Zabac. Squall finds the significance of strange man and his proposition quickly.

"Oh, yes. We're very interested." The man nods and sits with them. Having lowered his voice, Squall asks him, "What is your name?"

"Calrunde, Estharian, and at your service sir." From behind him, Irvine approaches their table and Squall's female companion takes notice worriedly.  

"Squall…" 

He meets her eyes and understands the situation. Turning to Calrunde he spoke quietly. "I'll meet you in a few minutes at the bar." Then he raised his head and his voice. "I do not think that we want to buy the ring, but thank you for showing it to us."

Calrunde sighs heavily, taking his cue. "If that is your decision." He puts the ring away. "Such a bargain."

"I'm sorry. It is." Calrunde takes leave of the table just prior to the Prefect reaching it.

"Mister Leonheart, is it not?" He advances with a mood of calm congeniality. 

Having returned his soft scowl to his visage, a scowl both dangerous and guarded but also oddly alluring, Squall turned to meet the man. "Yes." 

"I am Captain Irvine Kinneas, Prefect of Police here in Dollet."

Squall nodded coldly. "Yes. What is it that you want?" He drinks from his newly arrived premium triple-sec. 

Irvine spreads his arms out soothingly. "Why to merely welcome you to Dollet and wish you a pleasant stay. It is not often that we have so distinguished a visitor." Squall's exterior softened ever so slightly.

"Thank you." He sighed. "You'll forgive me Captain, but the present Trabian administration has not always been so cordial." Squall motioned his hand his companion with an affectionate gaze. "May I present to you Miss Rinoa Heartilly?"

The prefect moved forward and tucked his hat away. "I was told that you were the most beautiful woman to have ever visited Dollet. I see now that this was a gross understatement."

Rinoa flashed a friendly smile and spoke with a reserved manner and soft voice. "You are very kind."

Pushing back a chair, Squall asked. "Won't you join us?"

Irvine bowed and sat. "If you will permit me." He grabbed the arm of a passing server. "Oh, Olim?  Please, a bottle of your best champagne, and put it on my bill." Olim leaves to carry out his instructions.

Objecting, Squall speaks up. "No, Captain. Please."

The Prefect waved a dismissive hand and gave a mischievous grin. "No. Please, sir. This is a little game we play; they bring me the bill, I tear it up. It is very convenient." Rinoa looks off to the piano again, not escaping the notice of the Captian.

"Captain, the man who is playing the piano, somewhere I have seen him."

Irvine looks to the piano man shortly and then turns back. "Raijin?"

"Yes."

He started to pour the champagne into three bowl glasses and answered nonchalantly. "He came from Timber with Seifer."

The slightest hint of recognition flooded her face. "Seifer, who's he?"

Irvine smiled and laughed to himself. "Madam, this café, while formerly called _Fenrir's_ is usually called Seifer's by the patrons, or Almasy's. You are in Seifer's café and Seifer is…"

"Is what?"

Contemplative look on his face, Irvine muses a while before answering. "Well, madam, Seifer is the kind of man that, well," He was choosing carefully his words. "If there were a woman about and I," He pointed to his chest. "Were not around, she should be in love with Seifer. But what a fool I am talking to a beautiful woman about another man." Irvine springs quickly to his feet as he sees Major Martine walk toward them. "Excuse me. Ah, Major. Miss Heartilly, Sir Leonheart, may I present Major Martine?"

The major smiles pleasantly and bows at the waist. "How do you do? This is a pleasure I have long looked forward to." He stands in wait to be invited to the table even after the Prefect returns to his chair and the couple barely acknowledges his presence. 

Squall responds finally. "I'm sure you'll excuse me if I'm not gracious, but you see Major, I am a Centran." The Major's eyes narrow into small slits.

"You _were_ a Centran." He states matter-of-factly. "Now you are a subject of the Galbadian Reich!"   

Squall stood slowly and calmly in a way that belied his seething tone of voice. "I've never accepted that _privilege_ and I'm now on Trabian soil."

"I should like to discuss some matters rising from your presence on Trabian soil."

"I hardly think that this is the time or the place."

Martine hardens visibly. "Then we shall state another time and place. Tomorrow at ten in the Prefect's office, with madam."

Squall turned to Irvine formally. "Captain Kinneas, I am under your jurisdiction. Is it your order that we come to your office?"

The Prefect responded in kind. "Let us say that it is my request. It is a much more pleasant word." He smiled a disarming smile as Squall ran his fingers through his long wisps of hair over his face. 

"Very well." 

The Captain and Major bow shortly before excusing themselves and bidding a fair night to Rinoa. While they walk away Irvine speaks to the Major. "A very clever tactical retreat, Major." Martine turns to look at him crossly but is met only with a noncommittal smirk.

Squall had remained standing at the table as he watched the two officials walk away. He hung his head in consideration more so than resignation. "This time they really mean to stop me." Rinoa wrapped a thin arm around his neck.

"Squall, I'm afraid for you." He smiled down at her worried eyes.

"We've been in difficult places before, haven't we?" Squall strokes her hair affectionately, seeing her smile back, but with eyes still troubled. He surveys the area once again informally. Martine and Kinneas were whispering to each other off at another table, a singer picks at her guitar and starts to sing, and Calrunde waits at the bar. "I must go and find out what Calrunde knows."

"Be careful."

"I will. Don't worry." He walks over to the bar casually leaving her to her worries at the table alone. While the other musician sings, Raijin glances again to Rinoa and she watches him closely, sipping her drink. At the bar, Calrunde finishes his own as Squall comes to stand next to him. "Mister Calrunde, the ring, may I see it again?"

"Yes, sir." He removes the ring from his finger again while Squall orders a cocktail from Gilbert the barkeep. He hands it the Squall who looks at it closely. "I hardly am able to recognize you from the newspapers, Mister Leonheart."  He said lowly. Squall grinned wryly.

"In a concentration camp, one is apt to lose a little weight."

Calrunde took another drink. "We read five different times that you were killed in five different places."

"As you can see," He continued smirking. "It was true each and every time." He sighed. "Thank Heaven I found you Calrunde. I am searching for a man named Zone. He is supposed to help me."

The other man looked at him gravely, shaking his head. "Zone cannot even help himself. He was put under arrest here tonight for murder." Squall absorbed any shock he may have felt with perfect stillness and quiet. Calrunde continues with a devotion that borders on zeal. "But we who are still free will do what we can. We are organized sir, underground like everywhere else. Tomorrow night there is a meeting at the _Caverne du Bois, _if you were to come…" He became silent as Gilbert handed Squall his drink. 

*

Rinoa continues to sit alone, thoughtfully stirring her glass. When a waiter passes by, she beckons to him. "Would you ask the piano player to come over here, please?"

"Very well, madam."

*

Irvine came up to the bar area close beside Calrunde and Squall. "So, how goes the jewelry business, Calrunde?" He smiled while the other man turned to the bartender nervously.

"Er, not so well." He then asked Gilbert for his check. 

Ignoring the air of apprehension carried by Calrunde and the pervasive scowl Squall was again wearing, Irvine continued. "Yes, it's too bad that Mister Leonheart did not show up here sooner. We had quite a bit of excitement here this evening, didn't we, Calrunde?"

"Eh, yes. You'll excuse me gentlemen."

Squall too, turns to Gilbert and asks for his bill, but Irvine stops the barkeep. "No. Two champagne cocktails, please."

"Yes sir."

*

With an unconcealed and mysterious fear, Raijin finishes wheeling his piano to Rinoa's table. When he starts to bring out his music, she greets him. "Hello, Raijin." He sits down, ready to play.

"Hello, Miss Rinoa." He pauses briefly. "I didn't expect to see you again."

She nodded sagely, showing none of the self-possession that she had willed to show others just minutes before. "It's been a long time."

He nodded back quickly. "Yes ma'am. A lot of water under the bridge, ya know?"

"Some of the old songs, Raijin."

"Yes, ma'am." He starts to play, the fingers on his large hands the only parts of his body not appearing to be completely uncomfortable. His eyes shift about nervously, in expectation for anything, something, to happen.  

Rinoa closes her eyes to the soothing sounds and asks him after some time, "Where is Seifer?"

"I don't know." Even to himself, the answer seemed quick and evasive. "I ain't seen him all night, ya know?" He shifted in his seat, turning back to the piano.

"When will he be back?"

"Not tonight no more. He ain't coming back, ya know? Uh, he went home."

She retorted knowingly. "Does he always leave this early?"

"Oh, he never…" He stuttered. "Well…" He loosed a resigned sigh of desperation. "He's got a girl up at the _Blue Elvoret. He goes up there all the time."_

"You used to be a much better liar, Raijin." She made a sound, which if it had not been so elegant, could have been identified as a giggle.  

Raijing turned to her, still playing. "Let him alone, Miss Rinoa. You're bad luck to him."

She was detached. "Play it once, Raijin, for old time's sake."

He looked away, feigning ignorance. "I don't know what you mean, Miss Rinoa." She saw through his façade and smiled at the back of his sweating head.

"Play it, Raijin." She softly demanded again. "Play _As Time Goes By._"

He shook his head violently. "Oh I can't remember it, Miss Rinoa. I'm a bit rusty on it."

As if she had expected his attempt at eluding her request, she responded. "I'll hum it for you then." She did. Soon he began to play it, very softly at first. He swallowed a large lump in his throat. "Sing it, Raijin." He sings.

She swore that if his hands had not been occupied by the keys, he'd have used them to help pray, for how terrified he looked. Nonetheless, he sung, and with a voice so rich and pure as to completely contradict the way he spoke.

_You must remember this,_

_A kiss is just a kiss,_

_A sigh is just a sigh,_

_The fundamental things apply,_

_As time goes by_

Suddenly the door to the gambling room swings open, revealing the incensed countenance of the café's owner. He briskly walks toward the piano.  

_And when two lovers woo,_

_They both say I love you,_

_On that you can rely,_

_No matter what the future brings,_

_As time goes by_

Seifer's hand rests roughly on the head of the piano and he bends down to Raijin, who stops abruptly. "Raijin, I thought I told you never to play…" He stops his breath when sees Rinoa, who opens her eyes to look at him. They both stare.

I don't own the song either. Thanks for the reviews all.


	7. Consiliatio

Raijin shuffled his notes around nervously, trying to clear the piano away and move it from the likeness of his enraged overseer. Seifer's and Rinoa's eyes remained locked in quiet discernment of each other with shock evident on their fixated visages. Along the red-carpeted pathway, the prefect and Squall returned to the table, they too had been moved to silence by the strange display.  
  
Irvine was the first to break it, not observant of the palpable tension in the air. "Ah. Ma'am you were asking about Seifer and here he is. May I present to you - "  
  
"- Hello Rinoa." The saloonkeeper's lazy and somehow piercing gaze would not deign to fall away from the one he addressed to acknowledge the presence of the two men approaching.  
  
"Hello Seifer." She gave no greater amount of attention.  
  
The Captain stood slightly bemused at the alien ways Seifer was acting and at the entire spectacle before him. "Oh, so you've already met Seifer, ma'am?" Those he addressed would not alleviate his confusion. Neither responded. He tried to shift Seifer's focus away from the alluring woman and looked to Squall, who stood by over a chair, unreadable expression calculating the man seemingly enraptured with his wife. "Then perhaps you also - "  
  
"– This is Mr. Leonhart." Rinoa turned to her husband.  
  
Squall's head inclined perceptibly. "How do you do?"  
  
"How do you do?"  
  
Pulling out a chair for his wife, Squall comments, "One hears a great deal about Seifer in Dollet." He pushed in the seat with practiced measure, turning his grey eyes to the establishment's owner.  
  
"And about Squall Lionheart everywhere." Seifer remained standing, glancing around the table furtively every moment.  
  
As he motioned to an empty chair, Squall asked, "Won't you join us for a drink?"  
  
Irvine, who had been shifting his attention to the two inexpressive and mysterious relating parties, laughed aloud while shaking his head. "Oh, no, Mister Almasy never - "  
  
"– Thanks. I will." He sits down.  
  
Moving to seat himself as well, Irvine finally voices his surprise with the events taking place. "Well! A precedent is being broken." Seifer noticed the sign being given that the prefect thinks his actions highly estranged from normalcy, though he says nothing in return, only flashes a scowl. "Er, Olim." He motioned for the headwaiter.  
  
Squall looks around further at the surrounding elegance, but returns his attention to Seifer. "This is an interesting club. I congratulate you."  
  
Seifer, who seemed to speak easier, responded in kind, "And I congratulate you."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Your work."  
  
A tick flashed on Squall's face that may have been a short smile. "Thank you. I try."  
  
"We all try." The saloonkeeper mused and nodded. "You succeed."  
  
The prefect sat in disbelief at the apparent though strained camaraderie the table hosted. "I can't get over you two." He gave a sly gaze to Seifer and then to Rinoa. "You know, she was asking about you earlier Seifer, in a way that made me extremely jealous." He finished in an almost singing voice, paying no heed to the presence of Squall with his wife.  
  
Rinoa turned to Seifer appealing to all her endearing coyness. "I wasn't sure you were the same." She studied his face intently. "Let's see... The last time we met was - "  
  
"– 'La Belle Aurore.'"  
  
She smiled at the sentiment and the nostalgia, though the latter soon brought a frown to replace the happiness of reminiscing. "How nice. You remembered. But of course that was the day the Galbadians marched into Timber."  
  
Below a brow furrowed in retrospection, Seifer's mouth elucidated her sentiment. "Not an easy day to forget."  
  
"...No."  
  
His eyes were focused on her shining left hand, while all other eyes were mostly on him. "I remember every detail. The Galbadians wore blue, you wore white."  
  
She nodded faintly, with lips slightly upturned. "Yes." Her eyes began to shine with a coating of tears. "I put that dress away. When they march back out, I'll wear it again." Rinoa turned to Squall, whose attention seemed to be gravitating to the countenance of the man conversing with her.  
  
Seeing the indescribable tension manifest itself in silence, Irvine spoke up, "Seifer, you're becoming quite human. I suppose we have you to thank for that ma'am." He looked to Rinoa, who turned her fascination to the table.  
  
Taking hold of his wife's hand, Squall speaks to her. "Rinoa, I don't wish to be the one to say it, but it is late."  
  
The prefect examines his watch. "So it is. And we have a curfew here in Dollet. It would never do to have the Chief of Police up and drinking; he'd have to fine himself." As ever he was unaware of his unimportance in conversation or even presence. Squall smiles at Rinoa and signals the waiter.  
  
"I do hope we didn't overstay our welcome."  
  
Seifer frowned genially and dismissed the comment with a wave of his had. "Not at all." Olim arrives with Squall's check, but the owner quickly takes it, much to the shock of everyone present. "Oh, it's my party."  
  
Blinking in prolonged astonishment Irvine speaks again, trying still to manage a level of import commensurate with his position. "Another precedent gone! This has been a very interesting evening." He rises from his chair. "I'll call you a cab. Fuel rationing, time of night, you know how it is." The prefect shrugged and left.  
  
The couple bade goodnight to their host. "We'll come again." Squall stood and nodded his gratitude and something else undeterminable, nearly as hard as ever.  
  
"Anytime." Seifer stood as well as Rinoa approached him.  
  
She smiled. "Say goodnight to Raijin for me."  
  
"I will."  
  
"There still isn't anyone in the world who can by as time goes by like he can." He shivered with her comment and she felt her smile falter.  
  
"He hasn't played it in a long time."  
  
Rinoa forced herself to smile again. "Goodnight."  
  
Squall rejoined, inclining his head once again. "Goodnight."  
  
"Goodnight." Seifer returned the gesture and sat down again, watching as the pair walked out of his establishment, hand in hand. He grabbed what was surely to be a customer's drink off the passing tray of Selphie.  
  
Squall untangles his fingers from his wife's and gently wraps his arm about her shoulders. Bending down to her ear, he didn't whisper, "A puzzling fellow, this Seifer. What sort is he?"  
  
Her gaze remained on the approaching cab. "Oh, I really can't say, although I did see him quite often in Timber." Memory brought some kind of pain and shelter to her voice. Her husband backed away and nodded to himself.  
  
Irvine joins them at the curb. "Tomorrow at ten in the Prefect's Office."  
  
"We'll be there." Squall returned.  
  
"Goodnight."  
  
"Goodnight."  
  
"Goodnight."  
  
As they stepped into the awaiting car, Irvine released a cigarette from his pack and lit it, with a bemused look on his face. The neon sign to Almasy's flickered off, and Irvine turned to walk away. The revolving beacon at the airport occasionally lit his path and occasionally it illuminated the entrance to the emptied café.  
  
That same light swept over the dark room and dark face of Seifer. He sat alone at a table. All the customers had left; the only things to accompany him were the alternately full and empty snifter and the rapidly draining bottle of brandy. None of the elements of the night showed any change in his countenance, not even the heavy drinking. He sat wavering slightly, still evidencing the dexterity to keep his glass full and head upright.  
  
Such an expressionless soul and room confirmed the unreality of the world at large. 


	8. Fragmenti Memoritam

Chapter 7: _Fragmenti Memoritam_

"Boss?" Raijin moved to stand next to Seifer.

There was an empty chair and an equally empty glass opposite Seifer. All the tables were wiped down, chairs sitting atop them, the carpet and marble spotless and shining. It was dark, save for when the airport beacon infiltrated the stillness of the nightly sepulcher that hours before was a town's and people's lifeblood. Fortunately, it saw resurrection each afternoon.

His eyes were darkened and bloodshot, cheeks flushed a dark crimson, further masked by a halo of cigarette smoke, when Raijin called to him through the haze again. His voice was well practiced to penetrate barriers to listening, but few built walls like Seifer.

"Boss!"

Seifer quickly gulps down the tumbler of bourbon and slams it back down. He fills it again. "Yeah?"

"Boss, ain't you going to bed?"

"Not right now." Raijin couldn't see the sneer proclaim the especial grim mood of his employer, but he could hear a faint slurring of his words. He thought that perhaps the pub owner couldn't control his face enough to show his feelings and that was cause for concern because he never drank to oblivion, despite his near constantly refilling lowballs, flutes, and snifters. The entertainer pulled up in the empty chair.

"You ever going to bed?"

"No." Now the sneer was there.

Raijin sighed, "Well, I ain't sleepy neither, ya know?"

His boss poured another glass with an unsteady hand. "Good. Then have a drink."

"No. Not me, boss."

"Then don't have a drink."

They sat in silence long enough for two rounds of light and shadow to pass.

"Boss, let's get out of here."

Seifer growled emphatically, "No sir. I'm waiting for a lady."

"Please boss, let's go. Ain't nothing for you here but trouble, ya know?"

"She's coming back. I know she's coming back." He left no room for argument, but Raijin continued on anyway, hoping to pull his friend from self-destruction.

"We'll take the car and drive all night, ya know? We'll get drunk. We'll go fishing and stay away until she's gone."

Seifer's head fell through the dissipating cloud of smoke and he held it in his gloved hand. He smashed the butt of the cigarette in an ashtray with the other. "Shut up and go home, will you?"

"No sir. I'm staying right here." Raijin stoops into his piano stool and begins to play some light improvisations, swaying his head gracefully in time.

"They grab Zone and she walks in." Seifer lifts his head and squints as the light floods the room again. "Well, that's the way it goes. One in, one out. Raijin?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Raijin, if it's September 2141 in Dollet, what time is it in Esthar City?"

"Um… My watch's stopped, ya know?"

The saloon keeper takes another sip, slowing and swaying to the music. "I'll bet they're asleep. I'll bet they're asleep all over Esthar." After a moment he suddenly slams his fist into the table, missing the faint crack as it splits, and rakes both his hands over his head. "…Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks in to mine."

Head still in his hands, he asks a muffled, "What's that you're playing?"

Shrugging his big shoulders, Raijin says, "Just a little something of my own."

"Well stop it. You know what I want to hear."

"No I don't."

"You played it for her; you can play it for me."

Raijin rubs the back of his neck. "I don't think I can remember it, ya know?"

"If she can stand it, I can. Play it!"

Raijin begins playing _As Time Goes By_ and to Seifer's ears there seems to be an orchestral accompaniment, with an unseen voice singing.

* * *

_Seifer drives an old, but well maintained convertible car down the quiet, lazy streets of Timber. As Rinoa shifts closer to him, he squints at the wind and the genuine smile tugging at his eyes, and he puts his arm around her. Her head rests on his shoulder as he tries his best to drink in her scent before the draft takes it away._

* * *

_Standing at the second floor window of Seifer's apartment, Rinoa arranges flowers in a vase, smelling them with a small smile. Seifer watches her while opening a bottle of champagne. When she walks over to him, he asks, "Who are you really? And what were you before? What did you do and what did you think? Huh?"_

_Her infectious smile spread to him when she answered. "We said no questions." She takes the flute offered to her._

"_Here's looking at you, kid." He smirks and they drink._

* * *

_Music plays quietly in the Timber café. Seifer holds Rinoa close to him as they dance to the tune, eyes drawn together._

* * *

_The coin landed in her hand. "A gil for your thoughts."_

_He was staring out the window. A laugh played at his lips. "In Balamb, they'd only give you a penny. I guess that's about all they're worth."_

"_I'm willing to be overcharged. Tell me." Rinoa rests her hand on his thigh, waiting for his fingers to intertwine with hers._

"…_I was wondering."_

"_Yes?"_

"_Why I'm so lucky. Why I should find you waiting for me to come along." _

"_Why there is no other man in my life?"_

_She sighs. "That's easy. There was. He's dead... My father... Doesn't take kindly to my suitors."_

_His eyes drop to the floor. "I'm sorry. We said no questions."_

_Rinoa smiles, reaching around his neck. "There's only one answer to all our questions." She brings face up and his lips onto hers while they both neglect to breathe for a minute or more._

* * *

_They sit outside. A group is huddled on the other side of the street, straining to hear a harsh voice describe the inexorable march of Galbadia eastward. Their hands trembled around the wagon, holding each other, and the wagon with the tinny radio._

_Seifer cuts his hand in an angry swath. "Nothing can stop them now. Wednesday, maybe Thursday, they'll be in Timber."_

"_Seifer, they'll find out your record." She puts her hands to her mouth. "It's not safe for you here."_

_His sneer was defiant. "I'm on their blacklist already, their roll of honor."_

* * *

_Seifer was at the bar. A shadow played on the floor, with the lettering "_La Belle Aurore". _Raijin played at the piano and Seifer collected a bottle of champagne and glasses._

_Rinoa's piercing eyes are shrouded and distant when he returns, an unnerved air rests unpleasantly on her face. Seifer pours the champagne with his wry smirk in place._

"_Henri wants us to finish this bottle and then three more. He says he'll water his garden with champagne before he'll let the Galbadians drink any of it."_

_Stopping the tune, Raijin looks at his glass. "This sort of takes the sting out of being occupied, ya know?"_

"_You said it!" Seifer turns to Rinoa. "Here's looking at you, kid."_

_When the loudspeaker blares in old Galbadian, they look at each other and rush to the window._

"_My Galbadian's a little rusty."_

"_It's the military police. They say they expect to be in Timber tomorrow." A ghostly smile haunts only her lips and the rest of the room. "They are telling us how to act when they come marching in." She returns to the table and lets loose a whistful sigh. "The whole world crumbling around us, we pick now to fall in love."_

_Seifer nodded. "Yeah. Pretty bad timing. Where were you, say, two years ago?"_

_She looks up to the ceiling. "..Two years ago, let's see. Yes, I was having braces put on my teeth. Where were you?"_

"_Failing my cadet exams for the first time. I guess neither of us is as old as we look… Or feel." Her tender gaze takes him in before he reaches over to embrace her, and hold her arms to give her a fierce, affectionate kiss." _

_A mortar shell fires in the distance._

_Her eyes are frightened. "Was that cannon fire, or is it my heart pounding."_

_At a different time, he might have been amused, and played his charming jokes, but now he was only grim. "That's the new Galbadian '77. And judging by the sounds of it, only about 35 miles away." The booming continues. "And getting closer every minute. Here, drink up. We'll never finish the other three."_

_Raijin stood up. "The Galbadians will be here soon now, and they'll come looking for you. And don't forget there's price on your head."_

_Rinoa has her head down, arms behind her back. She pacing, not wanting to be reminded of the unfortunate facts at hand. Seifer never let his humor leave him. "I left a note in my apartment, so they'll know where to find me."_

"_Strange. I know so very little about you." Rinoa stated, when the tension somehow made her pensive._

"_And I know little about you, just the fact that you had your teeth straightened." He laughs._

"_But be serious, darling. You are in danger and must leave Timber."_

_His eyes narrow ever so slightly. "No, no, no, no, no. _**We**_ must leave Timber."_

"_Yes. Of course, we – "_

"_The train for Balamb leaves at five o'clock. I'll pick you up at the hotel at four thirty."_

_She quickly interjects. "No, no. Not the hotel. I have things to do in the city before we go. I'll meet you at the train station, huh?"_

"_All right, at a quarter to five." A thought strikes him. "Say, why don't we get married in Balamb?" He chuckles._

"_That's too far ahead to plan."_

"_Yes, I guess that is a little far ahead. Let's see… How about having the engineer on the train marry us?"_

_Her eyes go wide with the proposal. "Oh, Seifer!" But she turns away crying._

"_Well, why not? A Captain on a ship can. It doesn't seem fair that…" He notices her tears and holds her. "Say kid, what's wrong?"_

_She sniffles. "I love you so much and I hate this war so much…Oh, it's a crazy world. Anything can happen… If you shouldn't get away, I mean… If, if something should keep us apart, wherever they put you and wherever I'll be, I want you to know…" Then her tears stop her from going on._

_A calloused, but gentle hand lifts her face and wipes her tears. He gives her a light kiss._

"_Kiss me." Rinoa pleads. "Kiss me as if it was the last time."_

_He kissed her as if it was the last time. Her hand falls and knocks her glass to the ground._

* * *

_The rain is falling very hard at the train station and it does little to quell the feverish activity of the population trying to escape a conflict thrust upon them. It's hectic around the last train from Timber._

_A clock gives the time. Five minutes to five._

_Seifer rides in the crowd, glancing at his watch. Just then, the conductor pokes his head out of the train and yells, "All aboard. Last train leaving in three minutes!"_

_At almost the same cadence as his watch, he checks it again, and again, and again… He's oblivious to the rain and uncharacteristically nervous as Raijin approaches._

"_Where is she? Did you find her?"_

_The big man was crestfallen to hear desperation in his friend's voice. "No Mr. Seifer. I can't find her." He hesitates just a moment. "She checked out of the hotel, but this came for you just after you left." Raijin pulls a letter out of his pocket and Seifer grabs it._

_**Seifer,**_

_**I cannot go with you, or ever see you again. You must not ask why. Just believe that I love you.**_

_**Go, my darling, and Hyne bless you.**_

_**Rinoa**_

_All the while, rain was washing away the words as he read them._

_The train whistle blows._

_Raijin is frantic as his friend continues to stare at the letter, ink, and water, and salt, pouring off it. "That's the last call Mr. Seifer, do you hear me? Come on Mr. Seifer, ya know? Come on, let's get out of here, ya know?" He grabs the stunned man. "Come on, Mr. Seifer, come on…"_

_They climb on the train just as it moves._

_Seifer stares into the distance. As an afterthought he crumples the letter and tosses it aside, the steam from the train clouding over him._

* * *

He knocks over the glass when he reaches for it this time. Raijin walks to him, picks up the fallen chair, and then the glass, surprised at just how drunk his boss had become.

Both of their eyes move to the door as they hear it creak open. Her silhouette remained in the door way for just moment before she came to sit down.

* * *

Author's note: Yes, yes. It's been a long while, but I'm back. That's what's important, right? Halfway done.

Thanks for the support as always.


	9. Fabulae

Chapter 8: _Fabulae_

Her heels clicked loudly on the marble floor as she made her way to the table. Warily, she sits down, noticing the third-full bottle of whiskey and the smell of expensive cigarettes. Over the table her eyes were searching and bright, like she brought the airport's beacon in with her.

"Seifer. I need to talk to you." She sounded a little tentative, apprehensive, though there was no mistaking the determination in her voice. It seldom left.

"Oh. I saved my first drink of the night for you." Slurring, he revealed his lie. Her eyes narrowed at the empty glass in front of her and at his when he filled it.

"No. No, Seifer. Not tonight."

"Especially tonight."

Distantly, the ticking of a clock could be heard. Moments passed in silence as the marble glared and disappeared. "Please." She leaned forward.

Seifer looked to the side to watch as Raijin quietly excused himself. Sharply he inhaled a deep breath he didn't realize he needed, swaying his head with a wry half-smile. "Why did you come to Dollet?" He mused. "There are other places."

"I wouldn't have come here if I had known that you were here. Believe me Seifer." He frowned. "I didn't know."

For the first time that night, he looked into her eyes. His were not jade, or glowing, as they often were, but a muted poisonous green that wilted her soft brown ones. "It's funny about your voice." He sits back, "How it hasn't changed. In fact, I can still hear it 'Seifer, dear, I'll go with you anyplace. We'll get on a train and never stop.'" Rinoa's hair covered her face as she bowed her head.

"Please don't. Don't. Seifer, I can understand how you feel."

"Huh! You can understand how I feel. How long was it we had, honey?" The poison traveled to his tongue.

"I didn't count the days."

"Well I did." He spat. "Every one of them. But mostly I remember the last one. The 'wow' finish. A guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look on his face, because his insides had been kicked out." Some more whiskey warmed itself down his throat.

Her wandering eyes made their way back to him. "Seifer, can I tell you a story?"

"Has it got a wow finish?"

"I don't know the ending yet."

"Well go ahead. Maybe it'll come to you as you go along."

"It's about a girl who had just come to Timber from her home in Deling. At the house of some friends she met a man about whom she'd heard her whole life, a very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshipped him with a feeling she supposed was love."

While she gazed at him expectantly, he spoke up, hurt, temper, and alcohol-doused wit flaring to the forefront. "Yes, that's very pretty. I heard a story once. As a matter of fact, I've heard a lot of stories in my time. They went along with the sound of a tinny piano playing in the parlor downstairs, 'Mister, I met a man once when I was a kid,' it'd always begin. Huh… I guess neither one of our stories was very funny. Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it just Squall, or were there others in between? Or aren't you the kind who tells?"

She blinks hard her red-rimming eyes, and stalks quickly out the door. Somehow her shoes didn't make quite the same sound leaving as they did coming. His head fell to the table.

* * *

The sign outside Irvine Kinneas' office reads: Captain Kinneas – Prefect of Police. He held a fountain pen that slashed and signed its way down a small stack of paperwork. Indoors, away from the stifling heat, the captain and Major Martine sat, awaiting the arrival of a rebellion-leading couple. Droning loudly, the air conditioner was hard at work early in the morning.

Martine broke through the white noise. "I strongly suspect Zone left the letters of transit with Mr. Almasy. I would suggest that you search his café immediately and thoroughly."

Irvine sighed. "If Seifer has the letters he's much too smart to let you find them there."

"You give him credit for too much cleverness. My impression is that he's just another bumbling Estharian."

"But we mustn't underestimate Estharian blundering. I was with them when they "blundered" into Adel's tomb in '41." The prefect never looked up as he affixed his name to countless papers.

Martine affixed him with a cool stare. "And as for Mr. Leonhart, I want him watched 24 hours a day."

"It may interest you to know that he's on his way here at this very moment."

Martine smiled.

* * *

Squall and Rinoa slowly make their way through the crowded antechamber in the police station. He holds her hand and softly but firmly pushes the other visitors out of the way. A young couple trying to meet with the Prefect is told by an officer, in no uncertain terms, that there is "nothing we can do." They walk out, dejected.

After a few moments the same office escorts the couple into the Prefect's office. Squall's back remains rigid and he wears Rinoa's hands on his arm, clasped securely. His steely eyes surveyed the office, decorated with only a desk and chairs, with a large mirror next to the door, a small air conditioner droning away uselessly, and air scented with extravagant cologne and musk. Martine kept his eyes on him and the Prefect was still focused on his paperwork.

The Prefect stands and bows to them. "I am delighted to see you both. Did you have a good night's rest?"

Squall, who remained standing, bit back. "I slept very well."

Irvine fumbles with the back of his neck. "That's strange. Nobody's supposed to sleep well in Dollet."

"May we proceed with the business?"

"With pleasure." Chilled in the stifling heat. "Won't you take a seat?"

They all sit down.

Martine matches Squall's cold tone. "Very well mister Leonhart, we will not mince words. You are an escaped prisoner of the Reich. So far you have been fortunate enough in evading us. You have reached Dollet. It is my duty to see that you stay in Dollet."

"Whether or not you succeed, is, of course, problematic." His mouth ticked upward.

"Not at all. Captain Kinneas' signature is required on every exit visa." He turns to the Captain. "Captain, do you think it's possible that mister Leonhart will receive a visa?"

Irvine's hands spread in apology. "I'm afraid not. My regrets sir."

"And madame?"

"You needn't worry about me."

"Is that all you wished to tell us?" Squall was growing impatient. He looked at Rinoa as she squeezed his arm more tightly.

"Don't be in such a hurry. You have all the time in the world. You may be in Dollet indefinitely... or you may leave for Balamb tomorrow, on one condition."

"And that is?"

"You know the leaders of the underground movement in Trabia, in Centra, in Winhill, in Alcaud, in Fisherman's Horizon, in Balamb, in Timber."

"Even in Deling."

"Yes, even in Deling. If you will furnish me with their names and their exact whereabouts, you will have your visa in the morning."

Squall sits back in his chair, folding his arms, placing a hand over Rinoa's grip. "And the honor of having served the third Reich." Irvine added.

"I was in a Galbadian concentration camp for a year. That's enough honor for a lifetime."

Martine interjects. "Will you give us the names?"

The passion that threads Squall's words push Martine further into his seat. "If I didn't give them to you in the concentration camp when you had more 'persuasive methods' at your disposal, I certainly won't give them to you now." With stormy eyes, he leans forward. "And what if you track down these men and kill them? What if you murdered all of us? From every corner of the globe, hundreds, thousands, would rise to take our places. Even Galbadians can't kill that fast."

"Mister Leonhart, you have a reputation for eloquence which I can now understand." Martine regains his composure. "But in one respect you are mistaken. You said the enemies of the Reich could all be replaced, but there is one exception. No one could take your place in the event anything unfortunate should occur to you while you were trying to escape." Squall's eyes narrow and Rinoa's widen at the threat.

"You won't dare to interfere with me here. This is still unoccupied Trabia. Any violation of neutrality would reflect on Captain Kinneas."

"- Sir, insofar as it is in my power–"

"-Thank you."

Irvine stands up as Squall makes movement to do the same. "One other thing, sir. Last night you evidenced an interest in mister Zone."

"Yes."

"I believe you have a message for him?"

"Nothing important, but may I speak to him now?"

The Galbadian official eyes them from his seat, not missing the brief but subtle looks of disappointment on their faces as he informs them "You may find the conversation a trifle one-sided. Mister Zone is dead."

Rinoa exhales a soft "Oh."

Prefect Kinneas holds up a file. "I'm filling out the report now. We haven't quite decided if he committed suicide or died trying to escape."

"Are you quite through with us?" The woman at his arm lent him a small comfort as she saw the angry color come to his face.

"For the time being."

"Good day." Kinneas rings a buzzer and an officer opens the door. Squall slams it as he leaves.

Martine idly rubs his pencil-thin mustaches. "Undoubtedly their next stop will be the black market."

The officer gets Irvine's attention. "Excuse me Captain, but another visa problem has shown up."

Irvine smiles. He stands in front of the mirror and adjusts his tie.

"Show her in."

* * *

It was hot with the mid-day sun reflecting off the calm waters between the bazaar and the harbor. Most people wore sunglasses, or hoods, or both. They all had something to hide. In the shadows of a marketplace commode, a Trabian and a native merchant discuss a matter of urgent business, when the subject becomes distasteful to the purveyor.

His voice is low and soft. "I'm sorry, sir, we would have to handle the police. This is a job for mister Porsche."

"Porsche?"

He nods. "It can be most helpful to know mister Porsche. He pretty near has a monopoly on the black market here. You will find him over there at the Blue Elvoret." The businessman continues to nod, amiably.

"Thanks."

He walked across the street to the café, where, unimaginatively yet impressively, a living, breathing blue Elvoret was perched in a suspended cage far above the entrance. It shrieked and he jumped, then scampered inside.

Just into the noon hours, the café was already well-populated, it patrons enjoying its many goods and services, none the least of which was the delicacy of fresh Centran coffee, made rare and expensive by recent embargoes. At the center of the expansive, but certainly less ostentatious than Seifer's, dining room, the fat owner of the building sat, sipping espresso with a fly swatter near at hand talking to a couple who had just come from the justice building. He eyed his business rival as he walked toward his table, squinting even in the sparsely lit interior.

"There, don't be too downhearted. Perhaps you can come to terms with Captain Kinneas." His big jowls lifted ponderously as he smiled at the disappointed young lovers leaving his table. Absently, he swats a fly just before Seifer pulls up a chair.

"Hello, Porsche." Porsche is glad to see him and his new smile takes much less effort.

"Ah, good morning Seifer." He shakes his hand.

Seifer looks back outside. "I see the bus is in. I'll take my shipment back with me."

"No hurry. I'll have it sent over. Have a drink with me."

"I never drink in the morning. And every time you send the shipment over it's always just a little bit short."

Porsche laughs. "Carrying charges, my boy, carrying charges." Seifer scowls. A waiter walks by and Porsche grabs his arm. "The bourbon." He turns back to Seifer. "There's something I wish to discuss with you, anyhow." The fat man looses a deep-seated sigh. "The news about Zone's death upsets me very much."

Seifer snorted. "You're a fat hypocrite. You don't feel any sorrier about Zone than I do."

The older gentleman eyes him closely, then nods. "Of course not. What upsets me it that Zone is dead and no-one knows where the letters of transit are."

"Practically no-one."

"If I could lay my hands on those letters, I could make a fortune."

"So could I, and I'm a terrible businessman."

"I have a proposition for whoever has those letters. I will handle the entire transaction, get rid of the letters, take all the risk, for a small percentage."

"And the carrying charges?"

Porsche shrugs. "Naturally there will be a few incidental expenses. That is the proposition I have for whoever has those letters."

"I'll tell him when he comes in." Came the dry response.

"Seifer, I'll put my cards on the table. I think you know where those letters are."

"Well, you're in good company. Kinneas and Martine probably think so, too." Out the window he sees Rinoa at the bazaar and Squall walking toward the café. He turns his cool gaze back to the man across the table. "That's why I'm over here. Giving them a chance to ransack my place."

Porsches leans as far forward as his expansive habitus will allow. "Seifer, stop being a fool. Take me into your confidence. You need a partner." But Seifer was no longer listening.

"In fact I'll be getting back now."

Just as Squall comes in, Seifer makes his exit. "Good morning." Squall was cordial.

"Porsche is the fat gent at the table."

Squall looked back, bemused, as Seifer retreated in the busy heat of the day. Perplexed, Squall came to Porsche's table.

Rinoa held up a frilly afghan, priced 7,000 gil. A smooth-talking Trabian was describing its beauty and rarity as her eyes wandered.

"You're being cheated." The merchant and Rinoa's eyes briefly turn to Seifer, who walked up behind her.

She is polite. Formal. "It doesn't matter. Thank you."

The merchant scurried to find another sign. "Ahhh… For friends of Seifer, we have a special discount. Did I say 7,000 gil? You can have it for 1,000."

"I'm sorry I was in no condition to see you when you came to visit last night."

"It doesn't matter."

The merchant produced yet another sign. "For _special_ friends of Seifer we have a special discount. 500 gil."

"You story had me a little confused. Or maybe it was the bourbon."

"…We have tablecloths, some napkins –"

"Thank you, I'm really not interested."

"Please one minute! Wait…" He runs away hurriedly at Seifer's glare.

Rinoa pretends to examine more merchandise as Seifer follows her.

"Why did you come back? To tell me why you ran out on me at the railway station?"

"Yes."

"Well, you can tell me now. I'm reasonably sober."

"I don't think I will Seifer."

"Why not? After all, I got stuck with the rail ticket. I think I'm entitled to know."

She turned around to face him. "Last night I saw what has happened to you. The Seifer I knew in Timber, I could tell him. He'd understand. But the one who looked at me with such hatred... well, I'll be leaving Dollet soon and we'll never see each other again. We knew very little about each other when we were in love in Timber. If we leave it that way, maybe we'll remember those days and not Dollet, not last night."

"Did you run out on me because you couldn't take it? Because you knew what it would be like, hiding from the police, running away all the time?"

"You can believe that if you want to."

"Well, I'm not running anymore. I'm settled now, above a saloon, it's true, but… Walk up a flight. I'll be expecting you." She turns away. "All the same, someday you'll lie to Leonhart. You'll be there."

"No, Seifer, no. You see, Squall is my husband, and I was betrothed to him even when we were together in Timber."

Dumbly, Seifer stared after her as she walked into the Blue Elvoret. The creature for whom it was named, shrieked.

* * *

Like it? Hate it? Review it, ya know?


	10. Macellum Negrum

Author's note: I know that there's no mention of local diction in the game, but having different languages on the various continents doesn't seem unrealistic, so I'm going with it.

* * *

Chapter 9: _Macellum Negrum_

Rinoa came to take a seat next to her husband in the Blue Elvoret. The café's owner looked up to her with a single finger around a handle of an espresso cup.

"I was just telling Mr. Leonhart here that I am unable to help him."

"Oh." Her eyes alighted to the floor, a bird falling from the nest.

Smirking sardonically, Squall told her, "You see my dear, the word has gone around." He takes a sip of coffee.

Porsche continues to address Rinoa. "As leader of all illegal activities in Dollet, I am an influential and respected man. It would not be worth my life to do anything for Mr. Leonhart. You, however, are a different matter."

Her eyes lifted and her husband turned to her again. "Porsche thinks it might be possible to get an exit visa for you."

"And only you." Porsche elaborates pointedly.

"I will stay here and keep on trying. I'm sure in a little while –"

"- We may as well be frank Mr. Leonhart." The portly man set down his cup, his fourth, without a tremor in his hand. "It will take a miracle to get you out of Dollet. And the Galbadians have outlawed miracles."

Amidst the bustle of unhurried restive populace set to drown its sorrows or buy them off, Rinoa entwined her fingers with her husband's. "We are only interested in two exit visas, sir."

"Please Rinoa, don't be hasty." Squall's eyes were pleading.

"No, Squall, no." Rinoa's eyes were resolute.

"You'll want some time to discuss this. Excuse me." Porsche gets up and tips his wide–brimmed hat to them. "I'll be at the bar."

"No, Rinoa, I won't let you stay here. You must get to Balamb." He grabs her other hand and sets them both on the table. "And believe me, somehow I will get out and join you."

"But, Squall, if the situation was different, if I had to stay, and there was only a visa for one, would you take it?"

"Yes, I would."

She smiled. "I see. So, when I had trouble getting out of Winhill, why didn't you leave me there? And when I was sick in the desert and held you up for two weeks and you were in danger every minute of the time, why didn't you leave me then?"

"I meant to, but something always held me up." He smiled. "I love you very much Rinoa."

Bending forward, she kisses him. "Your secret is safe with me. Porsche is waiting for our answer."

They walk hand in hand up to the bar. Porsche sees them approach in the mirror between two of the dozens of liquor bottles on the shelves and he turns to meet them.

"We've decided, Mister Porsche. For the present we are only interested in two exit visas."

Porsche nods, slowly, but his jowls still jiggle slightly. He hands a coffee to Rinoa and looks at her closely, then turns to Squall. "Well, good luck, but be careful." His eyes flick momentarily to the bazaar. "You are aware that you are being shadowed?"

Squall glances toward the market. "Of course. It becomes an instinct."

The fat gentleman returns his gaze to Rinoa, mouth upturned and voice ironic. "I observe that in one respect you are a very lucky man, Mr. Leonhart. I am moved to make one more suggestion, why, I do not know, because it cannot possibly profit me, but, have you heard about Mister Zone and the letters of transit?"

"Yes, something."

"Those letters were not found on Zone when they arrested him."

The information sinks in and Squall's hand involuntarily squeezes his wife's a little harder. He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Do you know where they are?"

"Not for certain, Mr. Leonheart, but I would venture to guess that Zone left the letters with Mr. Almasy."

Rinoa's face grows dark as Squall and Porsche study her reaction without expression. Squall questions, "Seifer?"

"He's a difficult customer, that Seifer. One never knows what he'll do or why." The big man shrugs. "But it is worth a chance."

Squall nods. "Thank you very much. Good day."

"Goodbye, and thank you for your coffee, sir. I shall miss it when we leave Dollet."

Porsche bowed. "It was gracious of you to share it with me. Good day sir, madam."

"Good day."

The couple returns to the heat and activity of the bazaar. Porsche takes another sip of espresso and swats a fly nonchalantly.

* * *

In _Seifer's Café Balamb_, the Trabian pickpocket had found another trapped tourist to victimize. He lifted his glass in a toast to the bemused outlander. "Here's to you sir."

"Er…Good luck, yes."

"I'd better be going." He stated from a position that was too close for comfort. The other man eyed his waiter, Selphie.

"Er, my check, please."

"I have to warn you, sir. I beseech you…" Airily as a moth, his hand emerges surreptitiously with the tourist's wallet. "This is a dangerous place. Full of vultures, vultures everywhere!" He finally backs away. "Thanks for everything."

The tourist laughs. "Er, goodbye sir."

"It has been a pleasure to meet you." With his final words, he dashes off, straight into Selphie. "Oh, I'm sorry."

As the man scurries away, Selphie quickly pats all her pockets to make sure nothing is missing.

Raijin is sitting on the piano and a decorative floral arrangement sits atop the instrument, with all manner of fragrant flowers from the corners of the earth to make all yearn for a distant home. To his tunes, a singer from Balamb croons in a sultry voice devoid of emotion, but full of hunger. A small orchestra plays behind them.

Major Martine and his entourage come in, slipping by Seifer's table as Selphie approaches. She sets down a bottle and a glass. With a cheerful tone and a smile that stopped abruptly at her lips, she says, "Seifer, you're getting to be your best customer." He doesn't respond as she leaves with her tray, only stops to light a cigarette.

"Well Seifer, I'm very pleased with you. You're finally starting to live like a Trabian." Irvine sat across from him at the small table.

Seifer levels a poisonous glare at him and pours a drink for his companion anyway. "That was some going over your men gave my place this afternoon. We barely had time to clean it all up before opening."

Irvine shrugged. "I told Martine that he wouldn't find the letters here. But I told my men to be especially destructive. You know how that impresses Galbadians?" He sips his drink. "Seifer, have you got those letters of transit?"

"Irvine, are you pro-Vichy or Free Trabian?"

The prefect grinned, his eyes lighting and lifting his hat slightly on his head, and he wags his finger at Seifer, pointing. "Serves me right for asking a direct question. The subject is closed."

Seifer's gaze travels to the bar. "Looks like you're a little too late." He remarks.

"What?"

He nods his head in the direction of a Galbadian officer who has a slightly miffed Quistis Trepe on his arm. "So, it looks like Quistis has gone over to the enemy."

Underneath his wide hat, Irvine's eyes regard Seifer with the intensity and focus of a marksman. Abruptly, he shrugs. "Who knows? In her own way she may constitute an entire second front. I think it's time for me to go flatter the Major for a while. I'll see you later Seifer." He strolls away.

* * *

At the bar Quistis and the officer place their order. "Gilbert!" Quistis calls for the bartender over the loud ambiance.

"Trabian seventy-fives." The officer ordered.

Quistis spreads her arms across the bar, misjudging the distance to it, and declares, "A whole row of them, Gilbert. Starting here and ending here..."

The officer smiled apologetically. "Just two for now." Icy blue eyes narrowed at him. A Trabian agent takes a place next to her, speaking in his native tongue.

"You are not Trabian to be talking to the likes of him!"

"I'm not Trabian anyway. What are you butting in for?" She returned in his language.

"I am butting in-"

"-It's none of your business!"

The Galbadian steps forward and puts himself in front of the Trabian. "No, no, no, no! One minute! What did you say? Kindly repeat what you just said."

"What I said is none of your business!"

"I will make it my business!" They grapple.

Several tables make remarks and some chairs scrape as their occupants stand. Quistis sits to the side and shoots both the drinks set in front of her. Martine and Irvine watch the situation closely and Seifer strides to the fighting men before anyone decides to take sides and join in the ruction.

He pulls them roughly apart and addresses the Galbadian. "I don't like disturbances in my place. Either lay off the politics or get out." Quistis found tears freeze and thaw under the intensity of the glacial stare she sent at Seifer, who turned to her with a soft frown before walking away.

* * *

All of the Galbadian and Trabian officers at Martine's table sat back down warily. "You see Captain, the situation isn't as under control as you believe."

"My dear Major, we are trying to cooperate with your government, but we cannot regulate the feelings of our people."

Martine studies him closely. "Captain Kinneas, are you entirely certain which side you're on?"

"I have no conviction, if that's what you mean. I blow with the wind, and the prevailing wind happens to be from Vichy." He lights a cigarette.

"And if it should change?"

Irvine smiles, piquant. "Surely the Reich doesn't admit that possibility?" He puffs contentedly.

"We are concerned about more than Dollet. We know that every Trabian province in Galbadia is honeycombed with traitors waiting for their chance, waiting, perhaps, for a leader."

"A leader, like Leonhart?" Casually asked by the Captain, from within a plume of smoke.

"Uh-huh. I have been thinking. It is too dangerous if we let him go. It may be too dangerous if we let him stay."

The prefect leaned forward, thoughtful. "I think I see what you mean."

* * *

Selphie nearly skips. There is a bottle and two glasses in her hands and a wide grin on her face as she approaches the table of a middle-age Galbadian couple. She greets them in Galbadian. "I brought you the finest brandy. Only the employees drink it here. Tee-hee." Setting down the snifters, she uncorks the bottle and pours to the widest point, and swirls them each.

The husband says, "Thank you Selphie."

"For mister Leuchtag."

The wife thanks her as well.

"For missus Leuchtag."

"Selphie. Sit down. Have a brandy with us."

She lit up the room with a nitid grin, pulling out another glass from her back pocket. Mrs. Leuchtag beams right back, saying "To celebrate our leaving for Balamb tomorrow."

The waitress sits. "Thank you very much. I thought you might ask me, so I brought the good brandy and a third glass."

"At last the day has come." Mrs. Leuchtag squeezes her husband's hand.

"Frau Leuchtag and I are only speaking Estharian now, so we should feel right at home ven ve get to Esthar."

"That's a very nice idea."

"To Esthar." Their glasses clink together and they all tipple the brandy.

"Uh, sweetness heart, what watch?"

His wife glances at her wristwatch. "Ten watch."

Mr. Leuchtag looks shocked. "So much?"

"Er, you will get along beautifully in Esthar, huh."

Selphie directs her verdant gaze to the gambling room where a young refugee woman, who had tried to see him earlier, approaches Irvine in the hall.

He regards her momentarily, gaze and attitude effortlessly riding the line between philogyny and misogyny. "How's lady luck treating you? Aw, that's too bad. You'll find him over there." He points to Seifer's table.

She sees him and walks over to his table where he sits smoking. "Mister Seifer?" The refugee asks tentatively, wringing her hands.

"Yes?"

"Could I speak to you for just a moment please?"

He looks up at her and narrows his eyes. "How did you get in here? You're under age."

"I came in with Captain Kinneas."

His face contorted into a cynical smile. "Heh. Should have known."

"My husband is with me too."

"Is he? Well, Captain Kinneas is getting broadminded." He slides out a chair with his foot. "Sit down. Will you have drink?" She shakes her head. "No, of course not. Mind if I do?"

"No." Seifer pours himself a drink from the bottle Selphie left on the table. She gathers her courage before talking again. "Mister Seifer, what kind of man is Captain Kinneas?"

"Oh, he's just like any other man, only more so."

"No, I mean, is he trustworthy? Is his word –"

"- Now just a minute. Who told you to ask me that?"

"He did. Captain Kinneas did."

"I thought so." He takes a long drag on his cigarette. "Where's your husband?"

"At the roulette table, trying to win enough for our exit visa. Well, of course he's losing."

Seifer studies her closely. She looks exotic, pretty even, and too worldly though, to be so young "How long have you been married?"

"Eight weeks. We come from Winhill. Things are very bad there, a devil has the people by the throat. So, Jan and I, we, we do not want our children growing up in such a country."

"…So you decided to go to Esthar." Seifer's voice was weary, a condition passed on from his ears which had heard the same story with small variations for a very long time.

"Yes, but we have not much money, and travelling is difficult and expensive. It was much more than we thought to get here. And Captain Kinneas sees us and is so kind. He wants to help us."

"Yes, I'll bet."

"He tells me he can get us an exit visa, but we have no money."

"Does he know that?"

"Yes."

"And he's still willing to give you a visa?" He was suspicious.

"Yes, sir."

"And you want to know –"

"-Will he keep his word?"

Seifer looks away. "He always has."

She nods. Something eats at her, disturbs her deeply. "Oh, mister Seifer, you are a man. If someone loved you very much, so that your happiness was the only thing that she wanted in the whole world, but she did a bad thing to make certain of it, could you forgive her?"

He stares off at nothing. "Nobody ever loved me that much."

She continues on, not having heard his soft retort, or not acknowledging it. "And he never knew, and she kept it locked away in her heart? That would be all right, wouldn't it?" She was starting to tear up.

His venomous eyes snap to her again. "You want my advice?"

"Oh, yes, please."

"Go back to Winhill."

Desperate, she goes on. "Oh, but if you only knew what it means to us to leave Galbadia, to go to Esthar! Oh, but if Jan should ever find out! He is such a boy. In many ways I am so much older than he is."

"Yes, well everyone in Dollet has problems. Yours may just work out. You'll excuse me." He leaves abruptly, leaving her dejected, unable to move.

"Thank you sir." She doesn't rise and neither does her voice.


	11. Felicitas

Author's note: A shorter chapter. I'm attempting to write in way that invites reading between the lines, but I'm concerned that it might just be too boring. I'll be finishing this and moving on to something new regardless, but I hope you enjoy it.

I know _Cactus Jack _and _Ami _didn't have any lyrics in the game. Call it artistic license. :)

* * *

Chapter 10: _Felicitas_

Seifer was bent over the hostess' podium, perusing the reservation list when Squall and Rinoa walked through the door. _It Had to be You _floated without a sense of irony across the café, Raijin's staccato key presses and the singer's sultry voice providing a soundtrack for the scene unfolding. Seifer glances up and takes the cigarette out of his mouth to shake Squall's hand and greet the couple.

"Good evening."

"Good evening." Squall returned the greeting over firm shake. "You see, here we are again." His voice was filled with more ethos than a monotone should have.

"I'll take that as a great compliment to Raijin." He looks at Rinoa. "To you I suppose he means a Timber of, well, happier days."

Squall studies the surroundings as his wife responds quietly. "He does. Could we have a table close to him?"

"And as far away from Major Martine as possible?" Squall added.

The owner squints at the layout, frowning. "The geography may be a little difficult to arrange…" He snaps his fingers loudly for the headwaiter. "Paul! Table thirty!"

He arrived instantly. "Yes, sir. Right this way, if you please."

"I'll ask Raijin to play _As Time Goes By_. I believe that's your favorite song."

Rinoa smiles as she walks toward her table. "Thank you."

The dulcet tones of the song playing ended abruptly as her song started up. Seifer lifting his head and Raijin shaking his as his boss walked away.

"Two cognacs please." Paul took the order from Squall before sweeping away.

* * *

Meanwhile, Seifer had stalked off to the roulette table and stood at its side. He watched as the croupier addressed Jan, the other half of the couple from Winhill trying to make their way to Esthar without pulling a shadow over their marriage. Jan was playing with his three remaining 50 gil chips, looking bewildered.

"Do you wish to place another bet sir?"

He sighed. "No, I guess not."

A significant glance passed between Seifer and the croupier. The club's namesake spoke up, making sure the refugee could hear him. "Have you tried twenty-two tonight? I said twenty-two."

Jan turned to Seifer behind him, looked down at his chips, shrugged, and placed them on the black square labeled "22."

The croupier spins the wheel. Selphie looks on, enchanted.

"Twenty-two, black. Twenty-two." The croupier announced the winner and pushes a heavy pile of chips into the middle of the table. Irvine looked up from a nearby table, scowling.

Jan reaches out to rake them in.

"Leave them there." Seifer commanded. Selphie's eyes were practically twinkling. Irvine's smoldered, and Jan's were dumb with shock. He nodded.

There are no voices when the wheel spins again. It stops and the ball lands. Twenty-two, black.

Another huge pile of chips moves to the middle of the table.

Seifer's gruff voice broke the silence. "Now cash it in and don't come back." Jan struggles to carry all the chips away and collect his winnings.

A customer complains to Selphie. "Are you sure this place is honest?"

"Honest! As honest as the day is long!" She answered fervently.

The croupier gave Seifer an inscrutable look as he walked over. "How are we doing tonight?"

"Well, a couple ten thousand worse than I thought we would be." Seifer smiled a little smile and walked to the door to the saloon.

Jan's wife met him before he could make it out and launched herself at him. He met the ferocious hug stiffly. He gently pried her away. "Oh, mister Seifer, I –"

"- He's just a lucky guy."

Selphie sidled over to him, solicitously, green eyes gleaming. "Mister Seifer, may I get you a coffee?"

"No, thank you Selphie."

"Oh, Seifer!"

Seeing that the refugee couple has won, Irvine rises and follows Seifer out of the gambling room. The couple stops him before he can escape.

"Captain Kinneas, may I –" Jan was cut off.

Irvine addressed them irritably. "-Oh, not here, please. Come to my office in the morning. We'll do everything business-like."

Jan grinned. "We'll be there at six."

"I'll be there at ten." He sighs not unkindly. "I'm very happy for you both. Still, it is very strange that you won." He looks over to Seifer and softens a little. "Well, maybe not so strange."

"Thank you so much, Captain Kinneas."

* * *

At the bar, Selphie runs under the swinging table/door and whispers to Gilbert's ear.

"No!" The bartender shouted. He trots over to his boss, seizes him, and quickly kisses him on both cheeks. "Boss. You've done a beautiful thing."

"Go away you crazy Trabian!"

Selphie pours Seifer a brandy as he surreptitiously steals glances in Rinoa's direction. Irvine approaches him at the bar.

"Just as I suspected. You're a rank sentimentalist."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Why do you interfere with my little romances?" He rejoined, chidingly.

Seifer shrugged and drank. "Chalk it up as a gesture to love."

Irvine was quick to regain is good-natured spirit. "Well, I forgive you this time. But I'll be in tomorrow night with a breathtaking blonde, and it will make me very happy if she loses." He smiles and walks away, only to be replaced immediately with Squall.

"Mister Almasy, I wonder if I could talk to you?"

"Go ahead."

Squall rubs the faint scar on his forehead, unwittingly copying the man in front of him. "Well, isn't there some other place? It's rather confidential, what I have to say."

"My office."

"Right."

* * *

Squall and Seifer sit in his office, the former leaning forward with his arms on his thighs, the latter sitting back with his arms draped over the couch. Both are still holding snifters and Squall accepted a lighted cigarette.

"You must know it's very important I get out of Dollet. It's my privilege to be one of the leaders of a great movement. You know what I have been doing. You know what it means to the work, to the lives of thousands and thousands of people that I be free to reach Esthar and continue my work." Squall sounded almost rehearsed and certainly much more garrulous in nature than usual.

"I'm not interested in politics. The problems of the world are not my department. I'm a saloon keeper."

"My friends in the underground tell me you have quite a record. You ran guns to Centra. You fought the fascists in Deling City."

Seifer lifted his arms off the sofa back. "What of it?"

"Isn't it strange that you always happened to be fighting on the side of the underdog?"

"Yes. I found it a very expensive hobby, too. But then, I never was much of a businessman." He rises and Squall follow's suit.

"Are you enough of a businessman to appreciate an offer of one million gil?"

"I appreciate it, but I won't accept it."

"I'll raise it to two million."

"My friend, you could make it ten million or thirty, my answer would still be the same."

Squall frowned. "There must be some reason you won't let me have them."

"There is. I suggest you ask your wife."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, 'ask your wife.'"

A group a male voices singing below distract their conversation. They both walk out to the balcony outside his office that overlooks the café. A group of Galbadian soldiers were standing and singing "Cactus Jack," the Galbadian national anthem.

The scar on Squall's face began to stand out. His lips tighten into a straight line as he listens to the song, Seifer leaning on the railing, watching the events unfold. Squall starts down the steps purposefully and marches to the orchestra, passing by Rinoa's table and Quistis, face down, staring at the drink she stirs.

"Play _Ami_! Play it!"

Members of the orchestra glance toward the steps, looking for Seifer. He nods. The band strikes up the tune as Squall sings alongside the house entertainment, his motions and passion convincing many others to join with them.

Martine stands and attempts to conduct the Galbadians in song, but soon gives up, drowned out by the increasing fervor. Quistis had risen, adding her voice, as _Ami _continued on, tears of newly rediscovered conviction in her eyes. Rinoa looked proudly at her beau.

Soon the entire rest of the café joined in exalted song, ending it on a high, triumphant note. Several Trabian officers walk over to offer Squall a drink.

In the corner where the Galbadians were grouped, Martine fumed. He stalks over to the bar where Irvine stands, a carefully composed picture of indifference. "You see what I mean? If Leonhart's presence in a cafe can inspire this unfortunate demonstration, what more will his presence in Dollet bring on? I advise that this place be shut up at once."

"But everyone's having such a good time."

"Yes. Much too good a time. This place is to be closed."

"But I have no excuse to close it."

"Find one!"

Irvine put his hands up in defeat. After a short time, he seemed to reach a decision and brought his whistle to his lips. He blew fiercely.

Everyone was silent and looked toward the prefect.


	12. Elige, Elige Sapienter

Chapter 11: _Elige, Elige Sapienter_

Raijin's hands hovered over the piano keys, ghosting the notes of the rest of the song he had been playing. The singer's voice seized. After the whistle blew, all eyes focused on Irvine, curious, fearful, and angry alike. Most legs were frozen in place, but Seifer's stalked quickly over to the prefect, churning even as he closed the café with these words: "Everybody is to leave here immediately! This cafe is closed until further notice! Clear the room at once!"

An angry murmur went through the crowd. Couples collected their jackets and slammed down the remainders of their drinks. Chairs scraped an irascible groan as patrons readied themselves to leave, to go home or give the nearby Porsche's additional business.

"How can you close me up? On what grounds?" Seifer hissed to Irvine. Behind him, the croupier was leaving the gambling room, a thick wad of gil in his hand.

With an impressive amount of gall and a showman's volume, Irvine responded. "I am shocked, shocked, to find that gambling is going on here!"

His display leaves Seifer at a loss. The owner was scowling pensively and petulantly as the croupier walked up to Captain Kinneas, thrusting a wide roll of money in his hands. "Your winnings, sir." He remarked with utter dryness. Irvine quickly pocketed the gil.

"Oh. Thank you very much." More loudly, and facing the crowd which made its exit too slowly for the Major's liking, the Prefect addressed the throng; "Everybody out at once!"

In his own polite but halting way, Major Martine approached Rinoa as the customers filed their way out. "Madame, after this disturbance it is not safe for Mr. Leonhart to stay in Dollet."

"Just this morning you implied that it was not safe for him to leave Dollet." She didn't make any pretense to be polite in her tone.

"That is also true, but for one destination: to return to occupied Trabian territory."

"Occupied Trabia?"

Martine nodded. A tic upturned the edges of his lips. "Yes. Under safe conduct from me."

If big brown eyes could be said to burn, that is what Rinoa's did then. She spat back at him with a verve and intensity that belied her demure façade. "What value is that? You may recall what Galbadian guarantees have been worth in the past."

"There are only two other alternatives for him."

"And they are?"

The Major shrugged, tilting his head to the side. "It is possible that the Trabian authorities will find a reason to put him in a concentration camp here."

She put her hands on her hips. "And the other alternative?"

"My dear Madame, perhaps you have already observed that in Dollet, human life is cheap. Good night, Madame." He bowed to her, flinching only slightly at the murderous glint on her face.

Squall places a guiding hand on her elbow as he arrives at her table. They make their way to the exit, and he looks back to catch a glimpse of Seifer, who was already busily stacking chairs and getting ready to polish glassware. As the couple transitioned into the damp chill of the light fog that always seemed to come to Dollet at night, Rinoa looked at her husband askance. His stony countenance was a little more troubled than usual.

"What happened with Seifer?"

Waving away the question with his hand and a clipped rejoinder, Squall walked on with her, to their hotel down the street. "We'll discuss it later."

* * *

Squall flicked on the desk lamp as they walked into their room. He walked over to the window, lifting the shades to view the darkened streets outside. Below them, under an arch, a man stands. From the window, Squall watches him for a moment, and then lowers the shade.

"Our faithful friend is still there."

"Squall, please, don't go to the underground meeting tonight." She takes of her jewelry and sets them on the dresser.

"I must." He spoke in his customary sober drawl. "Besides, it isn't often that a man has a chance to display heroics before his wife." A little smile crept out, for his wife's eyes only, when he crossed the room to stand before a table. He takes a cigarette from a box and then lights it with a match.

"Don't joke. After Major Martine's warning tonight, I'm frightened."

"To tell the truth, so am I. Shall I remain here in our hotel room hiding, or shall I carry on the best I can?"

"No matter what I'd say, you'd carry on. Squall, why don't you tell me about Seifer? What did you find out?

He turned to look at her, blowing out smoke as he did. "Apparently he has the letters."

"Yes?" She couldn't help but look hopeful. Her tiny hands clutched the back of the couch.

"But no intention of selling them." A hard look passed from him to her. "One would think that if sentiment wouldn't persuade him, money would."

Rinoa pivoted her foot in front of her, fidgeting. "Did he give any reason?"

"He suggested I ask you."

Her head snapped up. "Ask me?"

"Yes. He said 'ask your wife.' I don't know why he said that." The lightswitch fell down under a heavy gloved hand and the darkness made the silence all the more dense and the words all the louder. Rinoa walked around to the front of the couch and sat down with a sigh. Only looking at her for a moment, Squall turns back to the window. "Well, our friend outside will think we've retired by now. I'll be going in a few minutes."

Moving to sit beside her, the silence stretched and strained, until it threatened to sunder the room.

"Rinoa, I…"

"Yes?"

He exhaled. "When we were betrothed and I went to Garden, were you lonely in Timber?"

"Yes, Squall. I was." He could see her profile in silhouette. It faced straight ahead.

"I know what it is like to be lonely." Because his soft voice had suddenly become louder than it should, he whispered his next words. "Rinoa, is there something you wish to tell me?"

"No, Squall, there isn't."

He nods. "I love you very much."

Finally, she turns to him. "Yes, yes I know. Squall… Whatever I do, will you believe that I, that-"

"-You don't even have to say it. I'll believe. Goodnight, dear." He stands only to bend over and kiss her cheek.

"Goodnight."

Her eyes are fixed on him as he cracks open the door to leave.

"Squall!" The slit of light illuminates her face from the opening in the door. She walks to him and hesitates. "Be careful."

"Of course, I'll be careful." He kisses her again and slips out the door.

She stands there for a moment, an inscrutable pain on her face, before she closes the door. In the room again, she walks to the window and opens the blinds to watch her husband walk down the street and under the archway. Then she goes to the bedroom, grabs a cloak, and leaves the hotel.

* * *

Selphie and Seifer sit by the bar and peruse the takings and ledgers. Selphie tallies the finances and looks up to her boss.

"Well, you're in pretty good shape, Seifie."

He glares at her for the too-personal nickname. It has no immediate effect. "How long can I afford to stay closed?"

"Oh, two weeks. Maybe three."

"Maybe I won't have to. A bribe has worked before. In the meantime, everybody stays on salary."

"Oh, thank you Mr. Almasy. Gilbert will be happy to hear it." She winks at him knowingly. "I owe him money. Tee hee!"

He nods absently. "Now, you'll finish locking up, will you Selphie?"

"I will. Then I'm going to the meeting of the –"

"- Don't tell me where you're going." His interruption was heavy-handed and almost sad. Certainly resigned.

"I won't."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight Mr. Almasy."

As he often did, he climbed the stairs to his apartment above the bar two at a time. He unlocks the door and walks in. The light from without briefly illuminates a figure at the window. Scowling, he turns on the floor lamp, and is momentarily stunned to see Rinoa turn to him, white-faced, but proud and determined.

"How did you get in?"

She cocks her head to the window. "The stairs from the street." With her head still tilted in analysis, she walks over to him.

"I told you this morning you'd come around, but this is a little ahead of schedule. Well, won't you sit down?"

"Seifer, I had to see you." He moves to the couch glowering. "Please."

"Your unexpected visit isn't connected by any chance to the letters of transit? It seems that as long as I have those letters I'll never be lonely."

Seifer studies her intently while she walks to sit down in a nearby chair. She sets her jaw determinedly, in a way that is completely serious, but looks almost comical. "You can ask any price you want, but you must give me those letters."

"I went through all that with your husband. It's no deal."

"I know how you feel about me, but I'm asking you to put your feelings aside for something more important."

He sneers. "Do I have to hear again what a great man you husband is? What an important cause he's fighting for?"

"It was your cause too. In your own way, you were both fighting for the same thing."

"I'm not fighting for anything anymore, except myself. I'm the only cause I'm interested in." He puts his still gloved hands on his knees and pushes himself up. She follows him as she walks to the window, swallowing hard.

"Seifer, Seifer… We loved each other once. If those days meant anything to you at all-"

He turns quickly from the window to glare at her. "- I wouldn't bring up Timber if I were you. It's poor salesmanship."

She tugs on his sleeve. "Please. Please, listen to me. If you only knew what really happened, if you only knew the truth-"

"- I wouldn't believe you, no matter what you said. You'd say anything now to get what you want." He trudged over to a cigarette box and scowls when he finds it empty. Instead, he walks to a humidor and pulls out a torpedo, clips the end, and grabs three matches to light it.

"You want to feel sorry for yourself, don't you?" She came as close to growling as she could. "With so much at stake, all you can think of are your own feelings. One woman has hurt you, and you take revenge on the rest of the world. You're a, you're a coward, and a weakling!"

Tears flood her eyes and she almost immediately puts her hand over her mouth.

"No. Oh, Seifer, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but, but you… You are our last hope. If you don't help us, Squall Leonhart will die in Dollet."

"What of it?" He deadpanned. "I'm going to die in Dollet. It's a good spot for it." Striking the matches, he turns from her to light his cigar, and then turns back. "Now, if you –"

He stops short, noting the small, but glowing, revolver in her hand, pointed unflinchingly at his chest. It was clearly junctioned and junction-piercing. Deadly to anyone.

One more tear fell down the side of her face. "All right. I tried to reason with you. I tried everything. Now I want those letters. Get them for me."

"I don't have to." He pulled them slowly from his suit pocket. "I have them right here."

"Set them on the table."

"No." The picture of stoicism, he shakes his head.

"For the last time, put them on the table."

"If Squall and the cause mean so much to you, you won't stop at anything." He pauses. "All right, I'll make it easier for you." With one step straight ahead, he's closer to her, heart but two feet from the muzzle. "Go ahead and shoot. You'll be doing me a favor."

After an agonizing minute, tears spring to her eyes again and she drops her arm. She walks to the window.

"Seifer, I tried to stay away. I thought I would never see you again, that you were out of my life…"

He walks over to her and wraps his arms around her waist from behind. He pulls her tight to him.

"The day you left, if you knew what I went through! If you knew how much I loved you, how much I still love you…"

Roughly, he spun her around to face him. His lips parted as if to say something for several hesitant seconds, then they moved down to crush her own in a kiss to end all kisses.

* * *

Rinoa sat at the couch. Before her on the table was a champagne bottle ensconced in a bucket of ice, two half-full bowl glasses, and a smoking stub of a cigar. Seifer stood at the window watching the revolving beacon of the airport light. "And then?"

"It was Squall's father's idea. He had this romantic notion that we should be wed. 'Love requited a generation later,' he called it. You see, my mother, Julia, once had a tryst with Squall's father, Laguna. It was during the first Sorceress War and clearly it didn't last. Couldn't last, more like. Obviously they both moved on, but neither wanted to."

Seifer sat down next to her. "I can't imagine that bit of sentimental rhetoric convinced your father."

"No." Rinoa admitted. "The way Laguna presented it to Caraway, it was a truce. The general saw it as a way to keep tabs on Esthar and maybe steal some of their secrets. So he agreed. When he got what he wanted peace didn't matter so much anymore…" He nodded. "I rebelled against him, against the marriage at first. I met you. I loved you."

"Why weren't you honest with me? Why keep your marriage a secret?"

"Oh, it wasn't my secret Seifer. Squall wanted it that way, to keep it from even our closest friends. That was his way of protecting me. My father wouldn't have and he had prepared all of his resources to kill you before you left, so you couldn't have protected me either. You had to stay away. I called in a favor to Garden to make sure you failed your exam."

Surprisingly, he only filed that information away, and said nothing.

"When I met my future husband, I thought of you, Seifer. I took all that you taught me in Timber. Took all that passion and knowledge I couldn't have with you anymore, and I gave it to Squall. It took a long while, it's true… But you see it now, don't you? There is a lot of you in him. He had to take up your mantle."

"Huh. But it's still a story without an ending. What about now?" He traced a gentle finger along her jawline and back through her hair.

"Now?" She looked at him, with love, longing, and torment. "Now, I don't know. I know that I'll never have the strength to leave you again."

"And Leonhart?"

"Oh, you'll help him now, Seifer, won't you? You'll see that he gets out? Then he'll have his work, all that he's been living for."

He nods. "All except one. He won't have you."

Rinoa rests her head on his shoulder. "I can't fight it anymore. I ran away from you once. I can't do it again." She swallowed painfully. "Oh, I don't know what's right any longer. You'll have to think for both of us. For all of us."

To him it meant more than to consider the three of them, but the world entire. "All right." He kisses the crown of her head. "I will. Here's looking at you, kid." She snuggles closer to him and he wraps his arms around her.

"I wish I didn't love you so much."

* * *

Probably two chapters left.


	13. In Tenebram

Chapter 12: In Tenebram

Selphie and Squall scramble in the darkness to the side entrance of _Seifer's Café Balamb_, narrowing escaping the sweeping headlights of the pursuing police wagon and the armed men with searchlights. They flatten themselves to the crook of the wall to avoid being seen.

"I think we lost them."

"Yes, but I'm afraid they caught some of the others," Squall lamented.

Selphie breathed quickly. "Come inside."

They slip inside the darkened café. It is quiet, they are quiet, but the door still makes a loud click that reverberates through the building. In the faint light, Squall's arm drips bright blood on the gleaming marble slabs. It was dangerous to use magic to heal, even when it was possible, but here in Dollet the entire town was under an anti-magic miasma. A device from Odine's own legacy.

"Come over here, I'll help you." Selphie motioned with her hand as they crossed over behind the bar where various medical tinctures and salves were hidden away.

"Thank you," Squall said as he presented his sleeve for removal and dressing. He quaffed one of the hi-potions she gave him and watched as the cuts began to heal.

She slammed a bottle on the counter. "Here. Have some water."

Upstairs at the balcony, the door cracks open. Seifer looks out to see Selphie treating Squall's wound, and pushes Rinoa farther into his office as she crowded up against him. He walks out on the balcony and leans over the railing.

"Selphie, what happened?"

Squall and Sephie both look up to him.

"The police broke up our meeting, Seifer!" Selphie stated excitedly. "We got out at the last second."

Seifer nodded. "Come here a minute."

She looked up at him questioningly, but wouldn't ever question him. "Yes. I'm coming."

"I need you to turn out the light at the rear entrance. It might attract the police."

Stopping, she says, "Gilbert always puts out that light –"

"-Tonight he forgot," Seifer rebutted firmly.

Rolling her eyes and sighing, she said. "Yes, I'll do it." Seifer opened the door to his apartment partway as Selphie was climbing the stairs. When Selphie sees Rinoa, barely visible in the doorframe, she says nothing, but turns to Seifer.

"I want you to take Miss Heartilly home," He whispered.

"Yes, sir."

Seifer plummets down the stairs two at a time. His eyes focus on the bar towel that Squall has wrapped around his wrist and looks at him questioningly.

"It's nothing. Just a little cut. Had to get through a window."

Walking past Squall, Seifer nodded and continued to the bar, where he collected a bottle of brandy. He poured it into two lowballs, since he suspected it they would drink quickly, and often.

"Well then, this might come in handy."

Squall takes the glass with his unwrapped arm. "It will. Thank you."

"Had a close one, eh?" Seifer leaned on the bar.

"Rather, yes." He drinks.

"Don't you sometimes wonder if it's worth all this?" Seifer asked, curiosity genuine. "I mean what you're fighting for?"

The other man shrugged painfully and winced. "We might as well question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we'll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die."

Seifer sneered. "What of it? Then it will be out of its misery." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette.

"You know how you sound, Mister Almasy? Like a man who's trying to convince himself of something he doesn't believe in his heart. Each of us has a destiny, for good or for evil."

"Yes, I get the point." He lights the cigarette.

"I wonder if you do. I wonder if you know you're trying to escape yourself and you'll never succeed."

"You seem to know all about my destiny." Seifer spat.

"I know a good deal more about you than you suspect. I know, for instance, that you are in love with a woman. It is perhaps strange that we both should be in love with the same woman. The first evening I came here in this cafe, I knew there was something between you and Rinoa. Since no one is to blame, I, I demand no explanation. I ask only one thing. You won't give me the letters of transit. All right. But I want my wife to be safe. I ask you as a favor to use the letters to take her away from Dollet."

"…You love her that much?"

"Apparently you only think me as a leader of a cause. Well, I am also a human being." Squall looks away, drawing breath. "Yes. I love her that much."

There is a sharp crash at the café doors and the splintering of wood. Two armed gendarmes and a Trabian officer push through the wreckage and climb over the remnants. They briskly walk with weapons drawn to the two startled men at the bar.

"Mister Leonhart?"

"Yes?"

"Please come with us. We have a warrant for your arrest."

"On what charge?"

"Captain Kinneas will discuss that with you when in custody."

"It seems that destiny has taken a hand," Seifer stated.

Squall gazes at him coolly, then walks with dignified grace to the officer. The other man's watch follows them, with the lifeless eyes cut from a forgotten and neglected statue.

* * *

Captain Kinneas sits at his desk as Seifer paces and touches the brim of his hat, nerves frazzled and showing. They are interrupted by an orderly who enters with papers for the prefect to sign. Irvine hands back the forms, adds some others, and turns his attention to his friend.

"But you haven't any actual proof, and you know it," Seifer began. "This isn't Galbadia or occupied Trabia. All you can do is fine him a few thousand gil and give him thirty days. You might as well let him go now."

Irvine sighed. "Seifer, I advise you to not be too interested in what happens to Leonhart. If by any chance you were to help him try to escape-"

"-What makes you think I'd stick my neck out for Leonhart?"

Smiling, the Captain ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "Because one, you've bet twenty thousand gil he'd escape. Two, you have the letters of transit; now don't bother to deny it. And, three, well, you might do it simply because you don't like Martine's looks. As a matter of fact, I don't like him either."

"Those are all excellent reasons."

"Don't count too much on my friendship, Seifer." Irvine narrowed his eyes. "In this matter I'm powerless. Besides, I might lose twenty thousand gil."

Seifer sat down. "You're not very subtle, but you are effective. I, I get the point. Yes, I have the letters, but I intend using them myself. I'm leaving Dollet on tonight's plane, the last plane."

His chair creaked as he sat up. "Huh?"

Seifer smirked. "And I'm bringing a friend. One you'll appreciate."

"What friend?"

"Rinoa Heartilly." He paused. "That ought to put your mind at rest about my helping Leonhart. He's the last person I want to see in Esthar."

"Hm. You didn't have to come all the way here to tell me this. You have the letters of transit. You can fill in your name and hers and leave any time you please. Why are you interested in what happens to Leonhart?" Irvine stretches out of his chair and sits on the side of his desk.

"I'm not. But I am interested in what happens to Rinoa and me. We have a legal right to go, that's true. But people have been held in Dollet in spite of their legal rights."

Pulling a fresh cigarette from the box on his desk, the captain inquires, "What makes you think we want to hold you?" He then chain lights the new cigarette with the one already dangling from his mouth.

"Rinoa is Leonhart's wife. She probably knows things that Martine would like to know. Irvine, I'll make a deal with you. Instead of this petty charge you have against him, you can get something really big, something that would chuck him in a concentration camp for years. That would be quite a feather in your cap, wouldn't it?"

Irvine mused, brow furrowed in concentration. "It certainly would. Galbadia… Vichy would be very grateful."

Seifer pressed onward with conviction. "Then release him. You be at my place a half hour before the plane leaves." Irvine sits back down in his chair. "I'll arrange to have Leonhart come there to pick up the letters of transit, and that'll give you the criminal grounds on which to make the arrest. You get him, and we get away. To the Galbadians that last will be just a minor annoyance."

"There's still something about this business I don't quite understand," The prefect began, confusion written on his face. "Miss Heartilly, she's very beautiful, yes, but you were never so interested in any woman."

The other man's gaze fell to the floor and slowly rose. "She isn't just any woman."

"I see. So, how do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"I'll make arrangements right now with Leonhart in the visitor's pen."

Irvine sighed, settling into his chair. "Seifer, I'm going to miss you in Dollet. Apparently you're the only one here with even less scruples than I."

"Oh, thanks," He responded absently, already having risen to leave. Irvine presses the buzzer on this desk.

"Go ahead Seifer."

He turns before opening the door to leave. "And one more thing: call off your watchdogs when you let him go. I don't want them around this afternoon. I'm taking no chances, Irvine, not even with you."

* * *

In the Blue Elvoret a waiter brings tea to the secluded table where Seifer and Porsche sit alone. He sets down the pot and quickly leaves at a dismissive glance from his employer.

"So, shall we draw up papers, or will a handshake be good enough?"

Under the shadow of the secluded nook in which they sat, Seifer sneered at his associate. "It's certainly not good enough. But since I'm in a hurry, it'll have to do."

Porsche pours a cup for Siefer, who sips the steamy drink contentedly.

"Ah, to get out of Dollet on away to Esthar! You are a lucky man."

"Oh, by the way, my agreement with Raijin's always been that he gets twenty- five percent of the profits. That still goes."

"I happen to know that he only gets ten, but he's worth twenty-five."

"And Fujin, Selphie, and Gilbert all stay or I don't sell."

"Of course, of course. _Seifer's_ wouldn't be _Seifer's_ without them."

Seifer stands. "Well, so long."

They shake hands to conclude their business. Seifer walks to the door and turns around. "Don't forget, you owe Seifer's a hundred cartons of Estharian cigarettes."

"I shall remember to pay it... to myself." He laughed.

Seifer leaves. Porsche grabs a fly swatter and slams it down on an unsuspecting pest.

* * *

Author's Note: Just one more to go. I hope it's been an enjoyable ride and thank you for reading.


	14. Ultimus

Chapter 13: _Ultimus_

* * *

The car pulling into the lot next to the café briefly illuminated the large placard hanging on the front door before the lights switched off.

_CLOSED – By Order of the Prefect of Police_

Inside, Seifer sat mulling over the letters of transit, swirling a cognac until a knock came at the door. He stuffed the papers into his breast pocket and walked over the front door. Opening it, he exposed the subtly over-eager face of Irvine, who tried to walk in, but was blocked.

"You're late."

The prefect sent him an irritated glance. "I was informed as soon as Leonhart left his hotel, so I knew I'd be on time."

"I thought I told you to call off the watchdogs."

"Oh, he won't be followed here." Irvine waved his hand dismissively and walked into the room. He looked around, giving the surroundings a deep perusal. Sighing, he said, "You know Seif, this place won't be the same without you."

His friend gave him a sidelong glance. "Yes, I know what you mean, but I've spoken to Porsche, so you'll still win at roulette."

Irvine nodded. "Is everything ready?"

Seifer pointed to his pocket. "I have the letters right here."

"Where were they when we searched the place?"

"Raijin's piano."

"Serves me right for not being musical." Irvine mused.

The crunch of tires on gravel told them that the rebellious couple had arrived. "They must be here. You should wait in my office." The Captain made his way up the stairs.

* * *

Outside, Squall paid the taxi driver as Rinoa quickly ran inside the building. Seifer is waiting inside the door and he grabs both her arms and pulls her to him. There is an intense uncertainty in her eyes. Apprehension and worry evident in her shifting brown orbs that were under a heavy strain. She searched him.

"Seifer, Squall still thinks I'm going with him. Haven't you told him?"

"No. Not yet."

"But everything's all right isn't it? You were able to make all the arrangements?"

"Everything is quite all right." He lets go of her.

"Oh, Seifer!" Her look pleaded for him to answer the questions she wouldn't ask.

"We'll tell him at the airport. The less time to think, the easier for all of us. Please trust me."

She is uncertain, but soon finds her conviction. "Yes. I will."

Squall walked in and closed the door behind him, the tracest of smiles gracing his face.

"Mister Almasy, I don't know how to thank you."

"Oh, save it," he returned, not unkindly. "We've still much to do."

All of them walk toward the bar and Captain Kinneas peeks out to observe the proceedings. Squall set his hat down on a nearby table.

"I brought the money, Mister Almasy."

He looked up briefly. "Keep it. You'll need it in Esthar."

Squall frowned. "But we had a deal."

Seifer cuts him off before he could continue to explore the many ways he changed his mind. "Never mind about that. You won't have any trouble in Balamb, will you?"

"No, it's all arranged."

He takes out the letters from his jacket. "All you need to do is fill in the signatures." Squall takes the papers and pen gratefully, and starts to fill out his name.

"Squall Leonhart!"

The three of them turn to look up the stairs where Irvine is stalking toward them.

"Squall Leonhart, you are under arrest…" He advances closer. "On the charge of accessory to the murder of the couriers from whom these letters were stolen."

The couple are caught completely off guard. They turn a horrified expression to Seifer, who sits with a statue's face. Irvine reaches over to scoop up the letters, smirking at the situation and letting his amusement show.

"Oh, you are surprised by my friend Seifer?" His smirk becomes a smile as he turns toward Seifer. "The explanation is quite simple. Love, it seems, has triumphed over virtue. Thank –" His speech and smile are abruptly stopped by the sight of a large handgun leveled directly at him.

"Not so fast, Irvine. Nobody's going to get arrested. Not for a while yet."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Irvine seethed.

"I have. Sit down."

"Put that gun down," the Captain responded. He starts to walk toward the other man, but he holds out his arm and shakes his head.

"Irvine, I wouldn't like to shoot you, but I will if you take one more step."

The prefect stops and examines Seifer intently.

"Under the circumstances, I will sit down." He does.

"Keep your hands on the table," Seifer barks.

Irvine complies while taking out his cigarette case. He glares as he talks, "I suppose you know what you're doing, but I wonder if you know what this means?"

"I do. We have plenty of time to discuss it later."

Taking a drag, the seated man goes on ironically, "Call off your watchdogs, you said…"

"Just the same, you call the airport and let me hear you tell them. And remember, this gun's pointed right at your heart."

He grabs the telephone and dials, quipping, "That is my least vulnerable spot." Seifer takes back the letters. "Hello, is this the airport? This is Captain Kinneas speaking. There'll be two letters of transit for the plane to the cape. There's to be no trouble about them. Good."

* * *

At the Galbadian consulate, Major Martine wears a concerned and confused expression as he listens to the person on the phone.

"Hello? Hello?"

He hangs up and slams a busser on his desk. An officer quickly enters.

"My car! Quickly!"

The officer salutes and leaves. Martine picks up the phone again.

"This is Major Martine. Have a squad of police meet me at the airport at once. At once! Do you hear?" He sets down the receiver and hurriedly exits.

* * *

An orderly uses a telephone at the airport runway. It is foggy in the night and a passenger plane is being readied behind him.

"Hello. Hello, radio tower? Cape Horn plane taking off in ten minutes. East runway. Visibility: one and one half miles. Light ground fog. Depth of fog: approximately 500. Ceiling: unlimited. Thank you."

When he hangs up he walks to a car that has just pulled up. Irvine gets out as the man stands at attention. Closely following him is Seifer, hand in his coat, still covering the Captain with his gun. Squall and Rinoa climb out of the back of the car, still dazed by the twisting of the streets and other paths in Dollet.

Seifer gestures to the orderly and talks to Irvine. "Irvine, have your man go with Mister Leonhart and take care of his luggage."

Irvine bows. "Certainly, Seifer. Anything you say." He turns to the orderly. "Find Mister Leonhart's luggage and put it on the plane."

"Yes sir. This way please." He and Squall leave, the latter somewhat reluctantly.

Seifer pulls out the letters of transit and hands them to Irvine. They walk to the hangar.

"If you don't mind, you fill in the names. That will make it even more official."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

His friend speaks to him quietly. "And the names are Mr. and Mrs. Squall Leonhart."

Irvine dropped the pen. He turns around and joins Rinoa in gaping at the former café owner.

"But why my name, Seifer?" Rinoa asks.

"Because you're getting on that plane," he answers simply. She looks confused.

"I don't understand. What about you?"

"I'm staying here until the plane gets away safely."

His intention dawns on his former lover and old rival's wife.

"No, Seifer, no. What has happened to you? Last night we said – " Her agitated pleas for understanding were cut short.

"- Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us. Well, I've done a lot of it since then and it all adds up to one thing. You're getting on that plane with Squall where you belong."

Her eyes began to cloud and shift uncontrollably. "But Seifer, no, I, I…"

"You've got to listen to me. Do you have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten we'd both wind up in a concentration camp." His words were hard, driven like a stake. "Isn't that true, Irvine?"

Irvine signs the papers with the recently recollected pen in his hand. "I'm afraid Major Martine would insist."

She shook her head. "You're only saying this to make me go."

"I'm saying it because it's true. Inside of us we both know you belong with Squall. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it."

"No." Tears started to slip down her cheeks.

"Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon, and for the rest of your life."

"But what about us?" she shuddered.

"We'll always have Timber. We didn't have, we'd lost it, until you came to Dollet. We got it back last night."

"And I said I would never leave you…" She sobbed, silently.

"And you never will. But I've got a job to do, too. Where I'm going you can't follow. What I've got to do you can't be any part of. Rinoa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. Now, now..."

He softened, took her tear-stained cheek in hand, and raises her face to meet his own.

"Here's looking at you, kid."

* * *

Martine drives to the airport and squeals into the drive, furiously honking the horn.

* * *

Squall came back and met with Seifer by the hangar. Seifer enters and takes the letters from Irvine before walking back out to Squall.

"Everything in order?" Squall asked.

"All except one thing. There's something you should know before you leave Dollet."

He senses what is coming, sees the stains on his wife's face. "Mister Almasy, I don't ask you to explain anything."

"I will anyway. It could be important later on. You said you knew about Rinoa and me."

"Yes."

"But you didn't know she was at my place last night when you were. She came there for the letters of transit. Isn't that true, Rinoa?"

She faces her husband. "Yes."

"She tried everything to get them, and nothing worked." Seifer spoke forcefully. "She did her best to convince me that she was still in love with me, but that was all over long ago. For your sake, she pretended it wasn't, and I let her pretend."

"I understand."

There was silence.

"Well, here they are." Seifer hands the letters over.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." Squall extends his hand and then they exchange a firm handshake. "And welcome back to the fight. This time I know our side will win." Behind them, the plane's engines flare to life. Rinoa looks at Seifer, but is met with only a blank stare. He turns to Squall and so does she. Squall breaks the silence. "Are you ready to go, Rinoa?"

"Yes, I'm ready." She turns to Seifer again, her face not understanding the wisdom of his decision, but respecting that it was there. "Goodbye, Seifer. Bless you."

"You'd better hurry, or you'll miss that plane." Rinoa turned away, reluctantly. She and her husband walked deliberately to the place as Seifer watched and Irvine watched Seifer.

"Well, I was right. You are a sentimentalist"

"Stay where you are. I don't know what you're talking about." Seifer champs down on a cigar.

"What you just did for Leonhart, and that fairy tale that you invented to send Rinoa away with him. I know a little about women, my friend. She went, but she knew you were lying."

Seifer looked at him. "Anyway, thanks for helping me out."

"I suppose you know this isn't going to be pleasant for either of us, especially for you. I'll have to arrest you of course."

"After the plane leaves, Irvine."

On the plane, an attendant closes the boarding door. It slowly taxis to the runway. Martine's speeding car comes to an abrupt stop outside the hangar. He jumps out of the car, incensed, and stomps to the Captain of the police.

"What was the meaning of that phone call?" he demanded.

"Squall Leonhart is on that plane." Irvine gestured with his head. Martine's eyes went wide and he turns to the plane, picking up speed as it gets into place on the runway.

"Why do you stand there? Why don't you stop him?"

"Ask Mister Almasy."

Martine looks at Seifer only briefly before blazing toward the phone inside the hangar door.

"Get away from that phone." Seifer warned.

The major stops, turns, and sees that Seifer is armed. He also sees no assistance from his Captain. His eyes narrow and he spits, "I would advise you to not interfere."

"I was willing to shoot Captain Kinneas, and I'm willing to shoot you."

As the plane makes its final turn, Martine seizes the receiver. "Hello?"

"Put the phone down."

"Get me the radio tower!"

"Put it down!"

Martine grabs for his gun with his other hand, he shoots, missing. Seifer does not. The major folds in on himself as he falls to the ground, phone still in hand. Seifer stuffs the gun back in his pocket.

A siren accompanies a police van that quickly empties itself of four gendarmes who come to Irvine. The first salutes him in a flourish.

"Captain?"

Irvine hesitates for only moment. "Major Martine's been shot."

He pauses to search Seifer's expressionless stare.

"Round up the usual suspects."

"Yes Captain." The others cover the Major's body and place him in the back of the van, then they all drive off into town, to collect the next batch of ruffians and nomads, along with a lovely woman, for the Captain.

Irvine pilfers a bottle of Vichy water from the hangar and opens it.

"Well, Seifer, not only are you a sentimentalist, it seems you've become a patriot."

"Maybe. It seemed like a good time to start."

"I think perhaps you are right."

The captain pours the water into a glass. He sees the label then, and he throws the bottle in the waste can and kicks it over. Walking beside Seifer, he follows the other man's eyes to the sky, where they watched the plane recede into the distance, swallowed by the fog. The two men plod along, leaving the hangar and travel the runway.

"It might be a good idea for you to get out of Dollet for a while. There's a free Trabian Garrison over by Obel Lake. I could be induced to arrange a passage." Irvine grinned.

"My letter of transit? I could use a trip. But it doesn't make any difference about our bet. You still owe me 20,000 gil."

"That should just cover our expenses."

"Our expenses?"

"Uh-huh."

"Irvine, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship." He paused in his speech as they walked off into the night. "But we ought to bring Selphie and Quistis along, wouldn't you agree?"

He smirked. Irvine nodded.

"But why now?"

Seifer shrugged. "Now that I remember a different time, and a different me, I think I ought to start planning ahead."

* * *

Author's Note: This marks a dual milestone for me. I've finally finished this 8-year project and have reached the 100,000 word mark on this site. I wish I could say I was more proud of the former, but sadly, most of the material, as I stated at the start, isn't my own, and what is feels sparse and, well, boring.

It was a story that I thought fit well in the universe of FFVIII, but I don't really know if I added anything to it. For those of you that stuck with this, thank you. Someday I may go back to revise and enliven the intentionally meager but unintentionally flat descriptions.

The film parodied was probably obvious to many. A play from the late 30's, _Everybody Comes to Rick's_ was made into a more famous screenplay, _Casablanca_, on which this work was based. I didn't come at all close to measuring up to the source material, despite using much of it, so don't judge the film by my bastardization. Everyone should own it, or at least give it a try, in my opinion.

At any rate; thank you again for putting up with this. Onward and upward…


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